


It's Not That Kind of Boarding School

by castielslovesong



Category: Hitman (2007), Supernatural
Genre: Captain America - Freeform, Demons, F/M, Feels, Friendship, Guitar, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Music, but not, etc - Freeform, hitman - Freeform, i had a dream like this once, ima stop now, kind of, kind of like, lots of angels, lots of character, much feels, ok, style supersoldiers, thrid story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 06:52:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielslovesong/pseuds/castielslovesong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are just two small parts of something much, much bigger. They are not the only children being collected and brought back to Christo Boarding School. And it isn't anything like a boarding school. It is a training facility for the next hitmen and women in the world, hired guns and army super soldiers. A perfected design that has been passed through generations all it requires is for the fight to be awoken in them.<br/>Broken, beaten and damned by the loss of his family, Dean is taken to training to become what he is meant to be. It is here that he finds out he isn't going to be partnered with just anyone, but someone who parallels him. Unlikely friendships are made and deals to be broken apart by greedy hands. Castiel and Dean get what they want eventually but at what cost? All the while, Dean is protecting his dead brother and holds close to him the only possession he was allowed to keep - The Colt.<br/>Will Alastair break him? Can Dean and Cas do their job and be free of the life? Or will their friendship turn into something more than it was ever meant to be.<br/>3 People can only keep a secret if 2 of them are dead.<br/><b> ON HAITUS TILL AFTER I FINISH MY OTHER FICS </b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just a Kid

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, so this is my third fic. Woo! (Others are unfinished for now)  
> I had a dream like this once - damn weird dream but hey!  
> Pay close attention to the Colt *snickers to self* and be ready for some cheesey guitar/fight scenes.  
> Hope you enjoy, feel free to leave feedback - even criticisms- if you have time. I am always open to suggestions people.  
> Read on and enjoy :) (apologies if it's shit) :)

The ugly sounds coming from his mother and fathers mouth made Dean want to curl up inside himself and never let the sickening words pierce through his mind. But he had Sammy to look out for. A small lump was hanging onto his arm like a lifeline, his sweet chubby face staring up at Dean like he could make mum and dad stop. Arguments had filled the once happy walls more and more recently, choking out and suffocating the boys. He had to get away. It was too much.

Pulling Sam, their hands entwined, they left their little house in Kansas, Dean absorbing the silent air; walking Sam to the park nearby. The earphones to his iPod were too big for Sam, but his brother loved the music and it helped to shut out the shouting most of the time. His parents just need time to work things out and then everything is going to be alright. Cheerfully bounding away from Dean, Sam pouted at his older brother to push him on the swing. Obliging his brother, he pushed until Sam got bored and went to make his own fun while Dean sat on the bench, head pounding from what he had overheard his parents shouting. His eyelids fluttered shut.

_“HE’S JUST A BOY! I THOUGHT WE LEFT SO THAT THEY WOULDN’T BE BROUGHT UP LIKE US.”_

Dean flinched at the memory of the venom of his mothers tone.

_“IT’S NOT LIKE WE HAVE A CHOICE MARY!”_

Sammy’s world was going to fall apart and it was all Dean’s fault. The aggression from his Dad shook the boy to his core.

_“I never wanted Dean to learn to fight; they are going to take Sam as well!? John! John look at me!”_

Wincing at the desperation that drowned his mother’s words, Dean wrenched his eyes open to see Sam’s inquisitive face staring right at him. He shook off the cobwebs of the memory and did his best smile to comfort his brother.

“Come on Sammy, let’s go home.”

“Home... Home, Dean Dean... Mommy. Song!” Sam babbled like that for the rest of the walk, amusing Dean and almost making him forget that his parents had been arguing.

Tentatively, the boys stepped through the front door, Dean’s head peering around the corner of the room, un-nerved by the silence.

“Mom? Dad?” His voice seemed to echo in the silence.

“Dean, get Sam and run!” the shrill of his Mary’s voice was shut off by the harsh _put_ noise. Dean knew that sound; it was the noise of a silencer... “Mom!”

Running into the room now, he found his Dad on the floor, blood oozing from the back of his head and a broken whisky bottle by his feet. Sam ran straight for their mother, face down; a pool of blood filling around her stomach. As soon as Dean entered, tears streaming down his face, he realised they were not alone.

Hot tears fuelling his rage, “You... YOU KILLED MY MOM!” The assailant cocked their head in surprise at Dean’s brashness. He manoeuvred himself between the gunman and his brother who was sobbing and clutching to the corpse that used to be their mother. “You stay behind me Sammy, you hear?” Distinguishing another wail as recognition of what he ordered Dean’s attention once again focused on the murderer. Quickly, he wiped the tears from his eyes and blinked, trying to clear his vision.

The person was dressed all in black; a black suit, with black trousers, a black shirt but a striking white tie that was faintly spattered with red flecks. Not just a person holding a gun but a woman, who spoke into an earpiece for backup. Her voice was soft, like a balm to the fire that burned through Dean’s veins.

“Dean, it’s alright. My name is Rachel. Do you know who I am?”

“You’re the bitch that killed my mom.”

“Really Dean that is quite rude. Naomi is going to have trouble with you I can tell. “She looked over his shoulder to Sam, Dean stepping in the way to once again block her view, “Perhaps not so much your brother.” Rachel smiled, she was stalling Dean thought; he needed to get Sammy out of here before... Another suited person joined Rachel’s side... Before exactly that happened.

Dean was unarmed, facing two big opponents and that should have been enough to make him just give up. But he was trained by his father, “What do you want with me and my brother?” His turn to play their stalling game.

“We just want to take you somewhere safe.” A man spoke this time.

“Yes, safe.” Rachel repeated.

Slowly, Dean had backed himself to the wall beside the fire place where his Dad kept the pokers. Flashing a smile at them he retorted, “You should be more concerned about your own safety.” With that he charged forward, knocking the gun from _Rachel’s_ grasp and shocking both of the attackers. He wielded the weapon like a knife from someone with years of skill and precision, rolling it around his wrist ready to strike again.

“Jesus Christ kid! Uriel get him!” Rachel screeched running out of the room.

“My pleasure.” Dean crashed the iron onto the large man’s knuckles, but the man was strong and hefty, grabbing the poker with his other hand and using it to knock Dean off his feet. Before anyone had registered what was happening, John was grabbing Uriel from behind, launching himself onto the huge black man’s shoulders.

“Dean,” he struggled, ”take care of Sam.” They made eye contact at that moment, "Yes sir." Dean responded.

Uriel threw John off his back, pressing a finger to his ear piece and then dashed out of the house; leaving the Winchester’s alone... Dean, rushing to his unconscious Dad’s side, found no pulse on his neck. He sat on his haunches, tears streaming down his face until he heard a crash through the living room window.

The flames licked up the curtains and walls within seconds. The thick black fingers of smoke stretched through the room, seeking the living out and closing around their necks in a chocking grip.

“Sammy? Come on, we have to go.” At the far end of the room was his Dad’s prize possession, The Colt. Fighting the stinging in his eyes, he lifted his brother from his mother’s side, brushing a soft kiss on her forehead as a goodbye. Sam was clutching a photo frame against Dean’s chest as he ran through the room. Throwing the strap over his shoulder, he heaved The Colt onto his back, barely rescuing it from the fires firm grasp.

Finally, breaking out of their back door, crisp air forcing its way into his lungs, Dean sputtered; he continued to force his legs to run. Keep running Dean. Never stop running. One thought chased through his mind as he blinked away the tears, stroking a cheek against his brother’s hair to comfort him.

_Take care of Sam._

 

 

“Yes sir... No sir. Dean got away sir. Sam? No I don’t think - . Of course sir. The Winchester’s are dead and we will find Dean.” Clicking the phone shut, Rachel turned to her partner.

“Guess that went well.” His voice cut through the hanging air.

“As well as to be expected. They don’t want us to return home until Dean is dead or with us.”

“We have to wait here to check the bodies are completely gone,” he turned to face the building engulfed in flames, “the boy may return, if not we go to known associates of John Winchester.” Shrugging nonchalantly, Uriel opened the car door and sat down.

“You know they were practically legends, the Campbell’s and that Winchester. We just killed some of the best of their generation.”

“What I don’t get is why they are so bothered by the youngest, Sam, was it? Not like it makes much difference.”

“You know them, there’s always a plan, a reason. Just like why we were asked to stick around.”

Stroking at the red blood patches of her tie he nodded absently, encouraging her to get into the car while they wait. It was a freezing November evening.

 

 

After about ten minutes of solid running and carrying his great lummox of a brother, Dean slows, praying to God that he wasn’t being followed. His lungs burned with the icy air he was inhaling in irregular gulps. Sam sat beside him, holding the broken picture, rocking himself slowly. Taking another breath to steady him, Dean pulls the strap so that the guitar is resting on his lap. _The Colt._ The only thing he had managed to salvage was his Dad’s guitar, the one he was teaching Dean to play, the one that his mom used to sing along to. He threw his head to the sky, hoping his parents made it into Heaven. Never had Dean hoped so strongly for God to be real, to be looking after his Mom and Dad.

The guitar was slightly charred from where the flames had scraped at the smooth wood, but it was still ok, still his. Grabbing his brother, they sat together, Dean cradling Sam in his arms just like Mary used to do. He had to get Sammy to Ellen’s, to keep him safe. With newfound confidence, _I won’t let you down Dad,_ Dean heaved Sam up, putting the guitar back on his back; the base lightly tapping the backs of his knees as they walked.

By the time they reached Ellen’s Roadhouse bar, the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. Pushing through the doors, the empty bar stared back at him and the faint sound of the record player filled his ears. Ellen saw them immediately and rushed over. Dean stopped dead allowing Ellen to hug them both.

“Dean, I heard what happened, come here.” She held them like that for what seemed like hours before Dean found his voice again.

“Mom and Dad...” He trailed off. He couldn’t find it in him to finish his own statement.

“I know sweetie, it was on the news... Your home. I’m so sorry.” Sam clutched to Ellen, holding her like his life depended on it. At least they were safe.

Dean turned his gaze to the TV where the news reports were covering the story. _My story._ What he saw made his stomach drop and bile rise in his throat. His fist clenched tight.

“Dean what is it?”

“Them. The two in black suits. They...” Dean stopped himself before the tears could break over his dams, “Well you know what they did.” He mumbled. “They don’t know that Sam got out. Ellen this is what Dad was training me for wasn’t it? He was getting me ready for when they came for Sammy.” Hyperventilating now, he had to sit down, Sam crawling off of Ellen to hold onto Dean.

“Dean I need to talk to you. But first let’s get you boys fed then Sam can take a nap. Ok?”

All he could respond by was a nod as he lifted his brother to the bar while Ellen got them some food. From somewhere in the bar he heard Jo gurgle in her cot, apparently feeling neglected from all the attention.

Sam wolfed down the pizza while Dean took tentative bites. He wasn’t hungry; not when he could see his mother and father’s bodies so clear in his mind and the _smile_ his killers gave as they ran out the room. Frozen by the memory, he was brought back by Ellen’s soft words directed at him. She had taken Sam up to bed and Dean sat with Jo in his arms, small and precious smiling up at him.

“I have to go, but don’t you worry Jo because I’m going to be there looking out for you and Sammy.” He brushed a finger over her face, little chubby fingers rising to grasp his own, “You might not see me,” he held back a sob, “but I will always be here. I promise.” He kissed her forehead before putting her back in her crib to find Ellen standing in the doorway, tears in her eyes.

“I will take Sam in then, you should stay too Dean.” Heartache made Ellen’s voice break unevenly.

“Don’t tell anyone who he really is, Sam Winchester has to die tonight.” A lonely tear broke out, “And I can’t. They saw _me_ get away.” By the end of his sentence, his voice was nothing more than a whisper.

A gentle hand raised his chin, “You are a good boy Dean, remember you are welcome here anytime.” Kissing his head she murmured something into his short brown hair, ”Don’t let them change the goodness in your heart.”

Dean nodded again, and then went up the stairs to see his baby brother one last time. Sam was lying in the bed, still holding the family picture.

“Hey Sammy.”

“Dean.” That was all Sam was really able to say as yet, he was only just 2 years old.

“Sammy, I’m going to have to go.” Sam fell out of bed and ran to hold onto him.

“Dean. No. Stay. Sam.” He pointed to himself as if to illustrate his point; Dean’s heart pounded against his chest.

“It’s not safe Sammy. I will come back but you gotta stay here with Ellen and Jo. They need you here Sammy. I _need_ you to stay here.” Holding Dean tighter, he used the leverage to put his brother back into the bed. Sitting on the edge, he tucked him in and brought the Colt into his hands. Slowly, he strummed the Beatles ‘Hey Jude’; it made him cry again because it was Mom’s favourite song. It had the desired effect though, as Sam’s eyes drooped low in time with Dean’s humming. In his last act of defiance Sam thrust his hand out, Dean’s iPod in his little hands.

“Take, come Sam soon.”

He stopped playing and put the broken iPod into his pocket. Kissing his brother’s head for what could be the last time, his whispered words he didn’t speak for anyone else.

“I love you Sammy.”

 

 

The walk back to his home was bitter and dark, winter already holding the sun’s warmth and light at ransom, slowly clawing the hours of day away. When he reached the family home, it was nothing more than a black shell of what it was. Half of the building had gone up in flames leaving the charcoaled carcass to welcome Dean back. The fire fighters had gone, presumably the police as well and the street felt eerie and menacing compared to what it used to.

Carefully making his way through the charred remains, he sat on the bottom step that used to lead up to his house. Pulling his guitar round, he began to softly play and sing to himself while he waited for them to come. He was sure they would come.

“So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,”

The flashback of his mother’s body hit him like a bat to his chest.

“Blue skies from pain.”

His Dad being thrown from Uriel’s back.  
“Can you tell a green field, from a cold steel rail?”

Holding the last note, he heard his Dad’s final words. _Take care of Sam._  
“A smile from a veil?”

The flames engulfed the memories, the heat and death floating in the air.  
“Do you think you can tell?”

 

“Winchester.” The callous tone of voice shook him from the song, messing up the last note.

“Just take me.”

“Everything will be explained once you are at base.”

Dean didn’t look up at the man. Instead, he pushed his guitar over his shoulder and followed him into the black van. As the door shut, so did the door to what he thought life was like. 


	2. What's His Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song references, new friends, new enemies and Dean Winchester is introduced to the harsh world of Christo Boarding School.

It was quiet, in the back of that van. They drove for over an hour, the silence engulfing Dean’s head allowing all of the images to flood back in. Shutting it out, the van pulled up to an ancient house, what could be mistaken for being abandoned, in the middle of nowhere. Wherever Dean was now, this house and the cluster of fields and buildings around it were to be his home. 

 

Being ushered inside by 2 strong hands, one on each shoulder, made him nervous; it was never good to go into a situation where you might have to fight your way out feeling nervous. Walking through the doors, he was greeted by a normal looking house – not what he was expecting at all. And then the steely room he was steered into immediately met those expectations and so he sat quietly in the middle of the room, on the single chair, staring out at the double sided mirror. The click of the doors lock ricocheted off the walls.

 

“State your name.”

 

A metallic voice vibrated through a speaker in the corner of the room. Dean wasn’t sure whether to show one last stand of defiance or whether to just go with it. His body soon made that choice for him.

 

“Dean Winchester.”

“Date of birth.”

“January 24th ‘79.”

“Age.”

“6 years.”

“Parents.”

Dean’s voice hitched. “Mary and John Winchester.”

“Location.”

He fought back the tears, “Deceased.”

“Siblings.”

A lonely tear escaped his eye. “Sam Winchester.”

“Location.”

This was really it, his heart threatened to burst out of his chest, his body on the brink of shutting down all together. The silence deafened the room.

“Location.” An agitated voice repeated.

His voice came out small and broken in the isolating room. “Deceased.”

“Continue through to the next stages, Dean.”

 

 

Compared to the other children brought to Christo’s, Dean Winchester’s file was unimaginably thin. The only details that were written down and could be certain of had been confirmed in a less than a minute interrogation. Not to mention his parents were two of the _best_ that ever left this place.

 

I watched as he moved through the doors into the next room. Understandably, the boy was traumatised. They were not supposed to kill the mother and the father; they were definitely _not_ supposed to kill any children. The children were the key. This generation is the one, I can feel it.

Metatron has joined me now, to watch as the boy picks out a new name - Dean Rodgers of all things, a very strange choice indeed. He then proceeded to hear the recorded brief: about his true past, why he was a little bit smarter, why he was a tiny bit stronger and taller than most boys his age. The explanation is simple but essential in the process. Not many children came here with possessions, even less with an instrument hung over their shoulder.

 

I leaned to the speaker, “Leave the guitar.”

His eyes focused on the camera in the now blank walled room. The boy walked straight to the corner, his mouth twitching with irritation and the bright green of his eyes was visible from here. If I had of been in the room I may have been intimidated at the, “Bite me lady.”

 

Zachariah entered the room now, giving his speech about respect to Management. Metatron gave me a bemused look as we watched the scene unfold. At first, Zachariah appeared to intimidate the child immensely, and then as he reached to take the guitar, the boy took his wrist and twisted it behind his back. He held him there, testing the flexibility of the old man’s arm.

“You want me to be your soldier? I keep my guitar.”

I contemplated the demand for a moment and before more men shoved their way through the door I responded, “Very well.”

A surprised face looked up at me through the camera, with a nod he released Zachariah’s wrist. Barely flinching as he was smacked across his cheek, he didn’t break eye contact with the camera.

 

 

A stinging in his cheek forced his legs into motion. Moving into the next room, he was quite relieved to no longer be alone. There was a large ring of chairs (perhaps 50 in total), positioned so that everyone could see one another, anxious looking children seated in some of them. Also, he noticed older looking children littered among the room; some looked like they were watching over the new kids and others were comforting those on chairs.

 

He took a seat that was the most isolated, no one beside him. Gently, he rested his guitar on his lap and closed his eyes. Dean could really use some alone time to think.

 

So Mom and Dad were like Captain America style super soldiers, a hit squad for hire, a bomb squad to employ and kidnappers on weekends. Not only that but they were experimented on; it was a drug that gets stronger with each generation. And here Dean thought it was just his strength of character and Dad’s combat lessons.

 

All too quickly, he emerged from his reprieve and met by the familiar crackle of speakers.

“Hello, my children. I hope that these first few hours have not been too rough on you, although I know for some it has been.” Dean looked down, the room was fuller than he remembered and he used that to force himself to look back up.

 

“As first years, this process will seem quite strange to you. However, this year will be your most important. Situated in the chairs around you are your fellow first years; 20 girls, 20 boys. All that is required for now is socialisation. Find someone with common interests as you, of the opposite sex for obvious reasons, and make your choice. When you have found a companion you may advance to your dorms where food will be provided. Further tests will ensue to ensure your compatibility, but for now, focus on personality traits.”

Some of the bolder members of the group stood up and began talking to one another. _Great and now I have to socialise._ Despite wanting to find a ‘companion’ and get out of there, his legs stayed put. Today was undoubtedly the worst day of his life; he just wanted to sleep and never wake up. He hadn’t even realised his eyes were closed again until he felt sure someone was watching him.

 

Looking up, he saw a pretty red headed child staring at him.

“Hi my name’s Charlie. Charlie Granger.”

“Like Hermiony?”

“Yes!” She giggled, “What’s your name?”

“Dean...” _Winchester. Winchester._ “Rodgers. Dean Rodgers.” The name was foreign to him and sounded weird as he disconnected himself a little bit more from home.

 

“Like Captain Steve Rodgers?!” She was standing there bug eyed at him, clutching a mac to her chest. He smiled a nod. “Oh my! I have to tell Ash! That is so cool.” Dashing off into the crowd, Dean was left alone once again. Absently, he brushed his fingers against the strings.

“Dean _Rodgers_ ,” giggling again she pulled another boy up by his hand, “This is Ash. Ash _Stark._ ” The other boy grinned wildly also holding a computer in his hand. _Oh yeah, those two are going to get on perfectly._

“A marvel fan hey.” Ash spoke boldly, “I like that.”

“Thanks... er... but shouldn’t you two get going, since you’re all partnered up and all.”

They both looked at each other then back at Dean, “Yeah, come see us later, Capn’.” Waving goodbye the two children left him.

 

The painful experience continued, though the crowd had thinned considerably since Dean last paid attention. His eye caught the attention of another beautiful red head across the room. Smiling at him, she beckoned him over. _You could do worse._

“Hi, I’m Dean.”

“Anna.” She blushed at him.

“Cool, so... um...” This is such an unnatural situation, Dean actually stammered.

“Wanna be partners?” Smiling, she knocked his shoulder and then offered her hand. With a shrug Dean took it and followed her out of the doors and up the stairs. The key they were handed had the code B17, which translated in the house as second floor, room 17.

 

When they reached the door Anna nervously turned the key and they walked into a modest room. Two single beds either side of the window ahead of them, 2 chests of drawers and an en-suite bathroom. The blank white walls made it look more like a psych ward than a room to be lived in.

Dean moved past Anna now and put his guitar down on the bed to the right hand corner. He looked up at her, eyes sensitive for the first time, “Do you mind me having this bed?”

“No, of course not.” Sweetly, she put her own bag down on the other bed. An awkward silence stretched out between them. He was complacently silent and welcomed it after the day he had endured.

“I’m going to go down stairs and see my brothers in the arena... you can join me if you want?”

“Oh, no thanks. I’m just going to sleep.” Patting his surprisingly soft cushion he grinned up at her as she left.

 

The gentle click of the door allowed Dean to slump forward, the weight of _everything_ crashing down on him. He lay down beside the guitar and closed his eyes in a feeble attempt to sleep. He pulled his iPod out of his pocket, inspecting it’s cracked screen. Pressing play, a sigh of relief escaped his lips as ‘Hey Jude’ flooded his ears. Eyes closed. Count: one, two, three. After cycling through the exercise about five times, Dean gave up. Stretching, he walked to the chest of drawers; pristinely organised black attire stared back at him. Perhaps a shower would be a relief for his aching limbs and heart.

 

 The pressure of the shower was pretty good and he welcomed the hot water. It washed away his thoughts and gave him time to think all over again. Clean, but still not tired, he wandered over to the window. Cautiously, he pushed against the wooden frame and watched as it opened all the way out. Positioning himself on the window ledge, one leg hanging out of the window, guitar in hand he inhaled the cold country air. The Colt responded to his gentle strums with gentle notes and tones that seemed to carry in the air. More confident, he began to play the chords to the song Sam had been listening to before he left.

 

He would never admit to it, but he had quite a good voice for a Winchester. _Rodgers_ he corrected himself.

 

“Hey Jude, don't make it bad.  
Take a sad song and make it better.  
Remember to let her into your heart,  
Then you can start to make it better.  
  
Hey Jude, don't be afraid.  
You were made to go out and get her.  
The minute you let her under your skin,  
Then you begin to make it better.”

 

He could hear his Mom’s voice in his ears and it warmed his heart. The cold stab of her final memory almost made him lose his place in the song.  
  
“And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain,  
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.  
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool  
By making his world a little colder.  
  
Hey Jude, don't let me down.  
You have found her, now go and get her.  
Remember to let her into your heart,  
Then you can start to make it better.”

  
The music dissipated out of his window and down into the grounds below. He had vastly underestimated the size of this house, the corridors (dorms) stretching out wither side of their central room. Now, with more power in his voice, he found himself fighting crying and singing louder.

  
“So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin,  
You’re waiting for someone to perform with.  
And don't you know that it's just you, hey Ju-”

 

Dean did not hear the rooms door click again, so when he turned away from the window to see Anna there staring at him, he nearly fell out of the window in shock. Anna ran to help pull him back in.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, but your voice is so beautiful and you just looked so peaceful there that I didn’t want to interrupt you!”

 

Still taking deep breaths and seizing his guitar simultaneously he smiled to let her know it was ok. “I’m fine, I just. You made me jump, tha’s all.”

“You have to come down to the arena and play! It would be totally awesome!” Her face lit up, “And I can introduce you to my brothers!”

“Sorry, but I don’t really feel like-“

“Pleeeeeeeeeeeease. For me?” Batting her eyelashes at him, Dean was taken aback by her forward nature.

“Ok, but no one is going to want to hear me play.” Dean grumbled.

“Castiel will, my brother, and Gabriel.” Quickly pulling his hand again she led him down to the ‘arena’.

 

It turns out to be more like a bar because there _is_ a massive bar that stretches the whole of the length of the room with bar stools littered all the way down. To the middle of the room are chairs and tables, to the far end pool tables and social areas and then the main piece to the lower left: like an underground boxing ring.

 

The room was heavy with tobacco smoke and smelt like sweat and adrenaline. They walked past the ‘ring’, wooden panels nailed together in a 15ft hexagon, with a taller wooden chair (looking just as home made as the ring) and people bustling around it as people fought.

 

“They aren’t fighting to kill, it’s like training” she leaned back to talk into his ear over the rowdy people as they walked past it to an open spot by the bar. “Hey Sam, you got a mic back there?”

“Sure thing Milton. How have your brothers been by the way?” The man behind the bar came from further down to bring her a dusty looking mic.

“Oh you know, the usual, boys being boys.”

“Nice of you to finally join us Anna.” He smiled a genuine smile at her while Dean sat awkwardly by her side.

“So, Dean, you got what songs you going to play sorted out?” A millisecond past before she turned the mic on, “Hi everybody, carry on as you were. But we have some in house entertainment tonight! Enjoy kids!”

 

Swiping the mic from her hands he whispered to her, acutely aware of people currently watching him expectantly. “For being a first year, you’re damn cocky.”

With a shrug she encouraged him, “I have 4 older brothers, now stop with the small talk and get playing.” The brush of her lips was gentle on his cheek and she placed the mic stand in front of him. He coughed uneasily.

“Hi, everyone. So, anyone here familiar with Mumford and Sons or Green Day? Well fuck you, I don’t care ‘cos that’s what I’m playing, just enjoy it.” People began to mutter and before he really lost his balls, he expertly strummed at the strings of his guitar. He mumbled quietly, “This one’s for the children feeling out of place tonight.”

It was a quiet song but it seemed to fit with the mood in the arena, plus his subtle changes of chord were amplified through the amp Sam had provided.

 

“Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road  
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go  
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why  
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time  
  
It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right,  
I hope you had the time of your life.”

 

The mood of the bar hadn’t dropped which was a good sign as Dean strummed harder to meet the tone of the song.

“So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind  
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time  
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial  
For what it's worth it was worth all the while  
  
It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right,  
I hope you had the time of your life.“

It took a second for it to sink in, people where out of their chairs dancing; his voice was gaining confidence as he went.  
  
“It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right,  
I hope you had the time of your life.

It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right,”

Stopping completely, he worked the crowd. Pause...

“I hope you had the time of your life.”

Clapping and chatter filled the room; Dean felt pretty good by this point.

“Ok, next one’s pretty much how I felt sitting in that chair a few hours ago.” He huffed a laugh and looked directly at the camera he had noticed in the corner of every room. “Enjoy.”

“You heard my voice I came out of the woods by choice  
Shelter also gave their shade  
And in the dark I have no name  
So leave that click in my head  
And I will remember the words that you said  
Left a clouded mind and a heavy heart  
But I was sure we could see a new start

So when your hopes on fire  
But you know your desire  
Don't hold a glass over the flame  
Don't let your heart grow cold  
I will call you by name  
I will share your road

But hold me fast, Hold me fast  
Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer  
And hold me fast, Hold me fast  
Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer

I wrestled long with my youth  
We tried so hard to live in the truth  
But do not tell me all is fine  
When I lose my head, I lose my spine  
So leave that click in my head  
And I won't remember the words that you said  
You brought me out from the cold  
Now, how I long, how I long to grow old

So when your hopes are on fire  
But you know your desire  
Don't hold a glass over the flame oh oh

Don't let your heart grow cold  
I will call you by name  
I will share your road

But hold me fast, Hold me fast  
Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer  
And hold me fast, Hold me fast  
Cause I'm a hopeless wanderer  
And I will learn, I will learn to love the skies I'm under  
And I will learn, I will learn to love the skies I'm under  
The skies I'm under.”

‘Hopeless wanderer’ is a much more sincere song than ‘Time of your life’ and the mood in the bar shifted considerably. Even without the piano and backup singers, something poured out of Dean when he sang. The whole song he had his eyes closed, letting his emotions flow through the guitar and his voice as he strained into the mic. Moving away from the mic as he held the last word, Sam already had a bottle of beer waiting for him. Dipping his head appreciatively, he took a long swig, looking back around with enough time to see Anna dragging two of her brothers towards him.

“Dean, this is my big brother Castiel and this is my other big brother Gabriel.”

“Er, hi.”

Annoyed at her brother’s lack of finesse around new people, she pushed them forward to persuade them to talk. Castiel stared at Dean like he was not of this world, his striking blue eyes meeting the green of Dean’s and holding him there. _Wow._

“Yeah, you can call me Gabe. I’m a 4th year, and probably the sweetest ass you’re going to meet. You got a good sense of humour don’t you?” Gabriel was the first to pipe up.

“I’m not even sure if I wanna answer that question.”

“That’s my man,” Grinning, he clapped Dean over the shoulder and left him there with Castiel.

“So Cas, what about you? Any weird tit bits to introduce yourself with?”

“Cas?”

“Erhm, yeah... Just less of a mouthful than Castiel. Don’t mind do you?”

“No I like it. You are a very good singer and player.”

“Well, thanks... you got any tal-“

“Does the pretty boy dance as well as sing?” A large black boy had sauntered into their conversation, pushing Cas out of the way and threatening to touch The Colt.

“Look man, I’m not looking for trouble.”

“So you don’t fight?”

“Would I fucking be here if I didn’t?!”

“Feisty, I like you. Let’s see what you can do in the ring.”

“No...”

“No?”

“Fuck sake; fine let’s get this over with.”

“That’s the spirit.” The new boy led the way through the crowd of people who were hooting now.

Cas followed close behind, tipping forward to whisper in Dean’s ear, “You don’t have to do this you know.”

A sigh replied to him, “Don’t I?”

The boy had gone to speak to the ‘ref’ who was now announcing the next fight:

“Raphael vs. singing guy!”

“Dean.” Someone in the crowd shouted and the ref corrected himself accordingly.

“Raphael vs. Dean.”

“Alright _Dean_ ,” Raphael slurred, ”You can put your instrument down now.”

“No,” he shouted clutching his guitar close to himself, suddenly conscious of losing it, “I will fight you and keep it with me.”

That earned him a lift of Raphael’s eyebrows but they eventually both stepped into the ring.

Raphael was trying to work up the crowd and Dean smirked because it was cocky pricks who his Dad had taught him to fight. Raising his hands to the neck of the guitar, he began to play. Silence fell upon the crowd and his opponent turned to face him.

“Weep for yourself, my man,  
You'll never be what is in your heart.”

Blind rage was building up in Raphael and Dean could see it. He easily leaned back, dodging a blow. He continued the song slowly.

“Weep, little lion man,  
You're not as brave as you were at the start.”

Fear crept into the corner of the man’s eyes; Dean’s lip twitched a half smile, knowing he was hitting the right spot. Raphael lunged forward again, Dean letting the last strum slide as he helped to push the man over.

“Rate yourself and rake yourself  
Take all the courage you have left.”

Avoiding each sequential blow Dean moved back, meeting crystal blue eye’s once more.

“And waste it on fixing all the problems that you made i-“

Dean stopped singing and playing. He had turned his back and Raphael had grabbed the neck of his guitar.

“Get your hands off her now.” Trying to keep his voice calm, he looked slightly to his left, meeting the gaze of Raphael. The smirk on the man’s face made his stomach fall to his feet.

Feeling the tightened grip on his guitar of unwanted hands, he flipped himself; that twisted the man’s body unnaturally so that he let go of the guitar. With one hand, Dean caught the guitar, hoisting the strap over his head and letting to hang there. With the other, he hit Raphael in the oesophagus making him gasp for breath and fall heavily to his knees. Knuckles met bone with a sickening crunch and Raphael’s face recoiled with the impact then Dean under kicked his chin, snapping his head back finishing with a side kick as the man at his feet fell to the floor out cold.

Unfathomable stillness gripped the ring, Dean taking a few moments to compose himself before backing away to the exit.

“Don’t touch my Baby.” He pulled the guitar back round to illustrate the nickname and strummed dramatically as a bunch of Raphael’s mates poured into the arena.

 _You are never going to make friends now._ Deflated, in spite of winning the fight, Dean went back to his room; this time when he collapsed on his bed (guitar protectively under his bed) and closed his eyes, sleep couldn’t wait to drag him under.


	3. You Must Be Joking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short gahh! Maths exam had me down, writing the chapter for my other fic next so the update for this might be a few days! Thanks for reading :)
> 
> Hey guys, so I'm finishing my other fic tonight and then all my focus will be on this one. Big plans for Cas and Dean, so please keep tuned. Next update will be saturday I promise!   
> Much love and peace out bitches -xo

After few pitiful hours sleep, Dean woke, his heart constricting in his chest and his lungs heaving. A bead of sweat dribbled down his forehead and he ran a hand through the damp hair that clung to his head. Glancing at Anna, he saw her petit figure under a bundle of covers. _This is gross, I need a shower._

Quietly, so as not to wake his partner, he shuffled to the bathroom; he stripped and self consciously inspected some of the scars that marred his skin. He knew the story that encompassed each one. _Combat with Dad._ Softly brushing over a small knick on his hip. _That doushebag at school._ Pushing the faucet hard to the left, he shuddered at the chill that filled the room. Under the cold water, he felt the strain of insomnia hit him again, putting a wall in his mind, causing his head to pulse back at him when he thought.

Sufficiently numb from the cold blast of water on his skin, he exited the shower room holding the towel around his waist. Clean and covered (well his important bits) he sat back on the bed. There was a bedside table between his and Anna’s bed and he was, bored, but intrigued by a book on the shelf below it. He picked it up... _A bible! A fucking bible. Are they actually joking?!_ Opening it, he read the handwritten note on the inside of the cover:

_You may feel lost, when coming to terms with the greater good. Your actions are working to make this world a safer, better place. Yes that means hard decisions must be made. Yes, regrettably, you may have to take a life. Unfortunately, in the unbalance of the world, bad people get away with bad things. But your deeds will liberate countries, wipe out dictators; sometimes terrible things must be done for good reasons. Find guidance my child._

“Hey, that’s mine.” Snatching the bible from Dean’s hands, a freshly awake and irritated Anna scowled at him.

“Sorry... I didn’t mean to...Never mind.” Dean felt awkward again, Anna was pretty and polite but they hadn’t really clicked. Not like he figured they were supposed to – if Charlie and Ash were anything to go by. He made a mental note to go see them today. Rapidly, he felt embarrassed at being in his boxers, his scars and skin open to the world. Dressing quickly, he threw on black trackies and a black top.

Having composed herself, she smiled at him sweetly again, all the malice fallen from her expression of earlier, “We start the schedule today.”

Confused he met her eyes, “What’s the schedule?”

She rolled her own, “It might save your ass one day to actually listen for once. Ok so for 3 days a week, Monday, Wednesday and Friday, we have combat. Like we fight together, learn to fight with weapons and fight _together_ against other first years.”

“3 days, all day?” Half listening, Dean held The Colt on his lap, tension slipping out of him at the familiar sensation of home.

“Mhm. Then for Tuesday we have torture wh-“

“Torture?! What the fuck? We are getting tortured here?” Dean interjected almost plucking the string completely off his guitar in shock.  

“Well, it’s mostly the psychological theory behind it. And for endurance. If one of us gets captured we aren’t supposed to break. Apparently, Alastair is a pretty chilled out, but fucked up, guy to be honest.” Anna paused, as if waiting for a response from Dean before continuing, “Thursday is my favourite, gun range and general weapons refining. Which leaves, montuethur... Saturday! For extras: parkour, lying, fake ID’s, driving etc.”

 “Dear God help us all! You missed out Sunday you know.”

Shrugging a reply, “Day off, too much work can over stimulate some people’s genetic response.”

His eyebrows lifted, “Ok then.”

“Once we are second years it will get better, we get jobs. I am really excited!”

“You’re weird you know that?”

Shy, she joined him on his bed, not bothering to grace his comment with an answer. “So today is Friday, which means we have to fight with one another. You going to be able to keep it together?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His jaw jutted out, shoulders squaring; the walls to himself coming back up.

“All of that shit with Raphael. Pretty big deal you know, first year beating a third year. With style too! God damn yo-“

“That dick doesn’t scare me and I’m fine. Are you fine? Yes, good. Now what time do we have to go to this stupid ‘lesson’.” Moving the guitar consciously away from her hand, which was slowly creeping closer to the knee it was leaning on, he placed it back under his bed safe.

An audible sigh escaped her lips, “In like an hour... Why don’t you let people touch it, _Baby_?”

“S’nuthin. Just the only thing I got. Like you and your bible I guess.”

Her face screwed up, “No, I got my brothers... I got you.”

Before she got too clingy, he stood up, “I’m going to go see a friend... You can come if you want.”

Anna looked back at him, slightly hurt her advances weren’t working to establish their connection, “No it’s ok. I need a shower anyway, see you in the pit.”

With a nod of his head he left the room. _I don’t even know where their room is._ Figuring he’ll start at the beginning of this floor, he strode silently down the corridor. It wasn’t fancy, just pale walls with plaques and pictures covering various places. Finally reaching the first door, he knocked with his knuckle. A tall, scruffy boy looking at him expectantly opened it.

“Hi yeah, just looking for my friends Charlie and Ash, you know what room they-“

“The two nerds with laptops? Yeah, they are 3 doors that way,” he pointed, “Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to bang my partner.” Shit eating grin firmly plastered across his face, he shut the door on Dean.

_Fucking over share much mate._

He couldn’t believe he had missed it before; the door had freaking ‘Dr Badass’ hammered into the wood. Rolling his eyes, he knocked hard. Charlie opened the door, her face lighting up when she realised it was Dean.

“Cap’n, come in! How you been? What you got today, me and Ash got computer technology, which is completely ridiculous considering we have already hacked into this places system!”

Dean entered their room by the tug of a hand on his arm. There was every type of poster on the wall, Lord of the Rings, League of Legends, Harry Potter and even Supernatural! _Now this is a room that feels like home._ They had pushed their beds together, moving the chest of drawers to the ends so their laptops could face them whilst they were sitting, leaving a minute gap to remove the contents of the draw. That is the exact position Ash was sprawled out in as Charlie pushed him onto the bed.

“Coooooey! Dean, the dirt in this place. Did you know that The President has ordered a hit before! The Whitehouse dude, that is freaking heavy. And the real good soldiers are going to be sent to Afghanistan? Bet that will be you Dean.”

“Jesus! How long has this place been around for?”

“1743, first founded. Only under Met and Naomi have things started to get big around here though. Some hits can be over 1 million dollars!” Charlie chipped in.

“I don’t get why its children, I mean besides the extra strength and smarts they have given us, surely children are venerable?” Dean spoke, voicing his fears for the first time.

“That’s just it. No one suspects kids. Dean look at me.” Charlie leaned forward to scrutinise his face. “So it is true! You beat a third year, awesome. You look older too! Oh my Chuck, all of those calculations aren’t bullshit! Told you Ash.” Playfully she hit him on the arm.

“Yeah whatever don’t interrupt me when I’m working woman.”

Dean felt comfortable here, with Ash and Charlie. They got along and were funny to be around. It lifted his still drowning spirits. Maybe he will ask Charlie what she meant later.“I gotta go. Combat in the pit.”

“Good luck Dean! Not that you need it eh, stop by if you have time after.”

Leaving a room for the second time with a short nod, he felt suddenly nervous for what was coming next.

Turns out, he needn’t have been. The first part of the lesson was a general explanation of the pit. It was a large hall, one of the ones separated from the main house structures, at the top end, weapons of all kinds (except guns) were lain out and the rest was open with plenty of fighting space and some dummies to practise on. From staffs to nunchucks, knuckle dusters to knives, there was literally every type of weapon from every culture.

Dean spent the whole day in close quarter combat with Anna, both of them deciding that they should start without using any type of equipment. They needed to know each other; their style and weaknesses. A sharp pain delved into his heart as he remembered his first fighting lesson with his Dad. Freezing, it was the only time that day Anna got the upper hand. His mental break down and then again when she told him that her brother was gunning for him now.

Later, he was too fatigued to do anything other than shower. Scantily, he picked at his food. The tray that had been left for them was cold now, a jacket potato with salad. Dean would almost have killed for a burger. Almost.

Anna had long gone to sleep, but Dean remained awake. If he was honest with himself, he was terrified of what awaits him when his lids fall closed. The heat and smell of burning flesh, the final images of his parents seared into his head and little Sammy, all alone and unprotected without him. Unfortunately, the only way to protect him was to take this responsibility.

Time ticked on. Eventually, he gave up and decided to walk it off. There was no curfew, and he wasn’t particularly concerned with Mr Singer’s guns lesson; he could already fire pistols, machine guns and sniper rifles alike. Not to mention throw knives – that is one skill he will always deem to be eternally badass.

By the time he was outside, he was well and truly alone. _I just need a few minutes._ Inhaling deep, the cold air burnt his nose. Walking on, he became trapped in his own head. It had only been one day but he missed his brother greatly; he didn’t know what to do with himself without Sam there to need him. He was his best friend and Dean had no idea how he was going to get to Sam without raising suspicion.

He came to a stop at a bench, facing a statue of ‘The Fallen’ in the courtyard. Subsiding onto it, he closed his eyes and allowed for the cold to overcome his senses. It drained him out and he welcomed the emptiness.

“Hello Dean.”

Snapping open, Dean turned his head to meet the striking blue of Cas’ eyes. They stared at each other intently, unable to break the spell.

“Couldn’t sleep huh Cas?”

“I find it increasingly difficult, not to mention Meg, she snores. Loud.”

Huffing a laugh he replied, “Yeah that must suck. I was wondering by the way, Anna mentioned that she was not your first partner or your second...”

“Well, I haven’t clicked with anyone yet,” he looked down averting his gaze from Dean’s, ”Meg hates Crowley, I hate Crowely, I’ve been through what 6 now? I don’t know, I don’t really care anymore, enemy of my enemy sort of thing.”

“Come on Cas, you could totally have the pick of the flock!”

“I do not understand?”

“You have the looks, you are strong... What the fuck is happening to me? I sound like...” _Mom._ Strenuously holding back a snivel, Dean looked away from Cas to the side of the courtyard he had come from. Noticing movement there, his eyes met someone’s far more sinister. _Michael and Lucifer and Raphael among others... Shiiiiit._

Cas had not spoken. For a minute, Dean thought he had left already but no, he was still sat beside him, a small place where their knees touched pooling in shared heat.

“I think you should go back to Meg and get some sleep, Cas.”

A confused and what was that... _Hurt!?_ Expression fluttered over Cas face, his head tilting slightly. Following Dean’s gaze, he saw his brothers advancing on their position.

“And leave you to fight my brothers alone? Do I look that stupid to you?”

“Do I look like I need help to you?”

It was too late for Cas to slip away unnoticed, and it was Cas that moved first. Swiftly, walking to meet them, Dean matching his pace moments after, the harsh tones of Raphael’s words carried in the empty space that separated them.

“Cassie, this has nothing to do with you. Leave, I have no desire to fight you.”

“Raphael, this is ridiculous. You must be joking.” Cas’ gravelly voice rebounded around the courtyard.

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

“You never look like you’re joking.”

“I agree with Raph, you just go home Cas.” Dean’s voice was confident in the air, despite his once again age and size disadvantage.

“It has got a brain up there! How surprising. Don’t worry Cassie, we just need to teach him a lesson.” Michael’s mature voice gave the formal tone of authority to the fight.

Bristling, both Dean and Cas exchanged a look, Cas’ saying ‘ _I’m not leaving you here to face this alone_ ’ and Dean’s saying _‘you don’t need to do this. They’re your brothers Cas’_ and all of it communicated silently within a fleeting second. Then they were in fighting stances, the tension visible in flexing muscles and adrenaline pumped heart beats.

“What a peculiar thing you are Castiel.” Lucifer sneered before landing the first blow on Dean’s face. He pushed back and from that moment on, it was 360 degree combat. They were surrounded, outnumbered 3:1. However, they fought together with ease. Rolling past each other, ducking and using the other’s strength to maximise impact they kept up the assault until only Lucifer and Raphael remained.

“No one messes with Michael except me.” Lucifer explained eyes like steel bars as he sent the others of their group home. He lunged at Cas, Dean stepping in front and blocking the blow. Expertly, he rolled his arm around, holding his shoulder before nudging his foot causing him to land on the ground with a loud skittering of gravel. Cas, overcoming his shock to not being hit, defended Dean, also taking Raphael to the ground.

Like a fish caught in the net, the two teens struggled against their restraint and taut limbs.

“Stop, stop fighting it. I get it ok! But you challenged me. I’m not looking for any more fights and I will stay away from you as much as I can from now on. Don’t bother me, Cas, Gabriel or Anna and I will not tell anyone about this. Or Charlie and Ash. Do we have a deal?”

A grunt from beneath him told him he did. Letting go, he and Cas strolled away from the others. At the doorway Dean thanked Cas, with Cas just sending him a questioning look. Sighing, Dean told him night, Cas’ hand lingering on his shoulder as he grasped it and told him goodnight.

Hastily falling into his bed, Dean lay awake until the sun peeked up over the night only managing a few hours sleep in reprieve. Blood still on his face, clothes still clinging to his skin; he again hated every minute at this place... That’s except for those vivid sapphire eyes looking into his own reassuringly.

 

 

The cameras picked up 2 of the children out at an odd time of the night.

Milton and Rodgers. _Castiel_ Milton and Rodgers.

I have never seen Castiel go to another student, although plenty of people flocked to him and his brother, Gabriel.

Castiel Milton was a problem. He had not clicked, _neither had Dean and Anna_ , I wrote down in my pad. The first 3 Milton brothers, Michael, Lucifer and Gabriel had clicked immediately. What to do with a perfect soldier without a partner?

Metatron entered into the room, I should talk to him... What is that?

A fight erupted onto the screen and I watched in disbelief as Dean and Castiel were fighting like they had found their other halves. So it had happened. They had clicked. It made sense really, I am not afraid to admit that the fluid motions and force behind each of their movements mesmerised me. Metatron too.

“They clicked.” He stated.

“Yes. Very well too. I mean look at them. Two _boys,_ a _first_ year and a _third_ year. We have solved our Castiel problem.”

“They would make a formidable team.”

“It is against protocol.”

“Why don’t we see if they decide?”

Dominating the situation, the 6 strong gang was now 2 and they were being pinned to the floor.

_A formidable team indeed._


	4. Trouble In Paradise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I understand that the timelines for songs/film references don't fit, but if you just imagine all these things when Dean was 6 it will probably help :) Next chapter should be a biggun so it might be a week or so before I post :) Thanks for reading,  
> Peace Out Bitches -xo

It occurred to Dean that he had actually gotten into a routine here. The days that were combat were the easiest, he and Anna gradually working up the weapons over the last couple of weeks. Turns out, Mr Singer (in charge of weapons class) is probably the nicest guy Dean has met; it almost feels like he actually cares. What Dean really likes is that because he is one of the more skilled marksmen of the group, he gets to pick what he shoots with – sometimes he even lets him throw knives. Saturdays can be tedious, but he loves the cars and the thrill that comes along with driving. Which leaves Tuesday. The worst day. At first, Alastair, as Anna had said, ran through the psychological impacts and methods to unlocking someone’s mind. That was last month. This month? This month Alastair is working his way through the class, each going to special ‘sessions’ and coming out looking like ghosts are real and 1000 puppies had just been murdered in front of them.

Luckily, or maybe unluckily, Rodgers was pretty far down on that list. His treatment started two days ago. Shuddering, his hand left the neck of his guitar to ghost over his ribs where the now slightly faded scars reminded him of the pain yet to come.

Other than the lessons, Dean had made friends. _Dean ~~Winchester~~_ Rodgers had made more friends than just Anna. Shaking his head in disbelief, Dean looked up from the bottle of beer the girls had nicked while Samandriel was busy. While the days are hectic the group of seven, newly dubbed The Garrison by Gabriel, claimed the pit in after hours. Nobody took the ‘keep training’ initiative seriously so the building adjacent to the main living areas became The Garrison’s by right.

Charlie, Anna and Kali would use the distractions of the arena and sweet talking Sam to get drinks and smuggle them into the pit. Gabe could get hold of anything; this week he had nefariously managed to acquire a sound system so that they could play music from Dean’s iPod while they generally messed around. Ash and Cas dealt with seating, food and lights as well as Ash using his skill with technology to boost whatever Gabe could get a hold of. Which left Dean: bad jokes, good music and of course... Live entertainment if they wanted it. 

He was smirking ridiculously in light of the situation. Ash had voodooed up this old heater, with a bunch of mirrors and an equalizer so that the music played and made flowing lights around the room. Gabe was flicking popcorn at Kali to get her attention and every so often one went astray and Charlie would lean casually to catch it in her mouth. Anna, Kali and Charlie were talking about how they are going to plan the mass murder of the people they see as brothers.

Family.

Dean’s little circle of trust wasn’t that wide yet. They had all shared stories, well with three Milton’s it was mostly who can out embarrass the other. Charlie spoke about how much she missed her Mom and Ash told everyone why he loves computers. But Dean? No, he hadn’t told anyone anything about his real identity.

To begin with, it was his defence mechanism. Now though, these people were his friends, the people who he considered himself equal to and a part of... he didn’t want to have to lie to their faces. Or have a break down and show his weaknesses.

Before he realised it, he had zoned out staring at Cas who was staring back with a questioning gaze and his head tilted slightly to the right. Laughing, Dean boxed the thoughts neatly away and leaned over the Colt on his lap to turn up Led Zepplin’s Stairway to Heaven. Calmly, he leant back, closing his eyes and allowing for the music to overthrow his senses. From somewhere beside him he heard Gabriel groan about ‘how old this song is’ and then a slight squeal when Cas punched him. Cracking an eye open, he met blue instantly and smiled softly again letting his lids close.

“Dean?” Charlie asked reaching forward to scroll through his song list.

“Mhmm.” He hummed back without moving.

“I gotta ask you about your music tastes.”

Resounding grunts of agreements came from all the people sprawled around the circle.

“I’m glad you have the Beatles on there,” Cas commented, swigging at his beer, “I am fond of older music.”

“Pfft. That’s ‘cos you were born about 50 centuries too late!” Gabe chuckled.

“Gabe, just because Cas doesn’t listen to Robbie Williams and Take That.” Kali sighed.

“You knocking my music taste woman, God what did I ever see in you,” He teased, winking at her.

“Joking aside, Cap’n, I totally get the Mumford and Sons, Green Day... I can feel you on the Eminem and from what I know about you,” she squinted at him accusingly, “All the old rock bands are a given...”

“So?” Only half listening, Dean was strumming his guitar so that his hands had something to do.  

“So where did Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Swedish House Mafia, Rizzle Kicks... _P!nk_ come from? Forgive me, but that doesn’t fit you at all.”

“You forgot about Passenger, he wrote some of Sammy’s favourite...” It was only after his eyes blinked open to 6 uncomfortably gaping faces that he realised his slip. “Yeah... My brother liked those bands, so I stuck them on there for him. What can I say? They grew on me.”

Silence sank down across the pit. The last fading notes of Stairway to Heaven filtering above the suppressing air.

“Can you play?” Cas’ gravelly voice cut through the gloom.

“Might wanna be more specific Cas.” Dean joked, trying to lift them away from the topic of his family.

“Passenger, what songs can you play?” The other boy asked, more tentatively this time, shuffling a bit closer to where Dean hunched, knees drawn to his chest and the guitar on the floor beside him.  

“Well, I learnt them by listening to them, so I’m not very good but erhm... Hearts on fire, Let Her Go... Life’s For Th-“

“Let her go!” Cas practically shouted and Dean jumped, not realising how close Cas had gotten.

“Nah, come on Cas. That’s like a love ballad dude.” Features slumping, Cas huffed an indignant response. “Hey, don’t be like that. How ‘bout I meet you half way? Pick a Beatles song.”

That cheered him up.

“Hey Jude!” Anna called from the other side of the fire. Silently, Dean’s head twitched enough to say no and nothing more. “But Dean!”

Cas wasn’t sure why Dean didn’t want to play that song but he didn’t mind. “Help.” He stated. “Could you play ‘Help’?”

“Weird guitar bits and I’m a little rusty, but for you Cas, anything.” Grinning at his friend, Dean began to play the song when he stopped unexpectedly. “You expecting me to sing?” A shy nod replied to him; Dean began to play again. Ash had turned off the music system so that only Dean’s instrumental could be heard. The Garrison sat, huddled around the urban camp fire listening to Dean.

“Help, I need somebody  
Help, not just anybody  
Help, you know, I need someone  
Help.   
  
When I was younger, so much younger than today (I never needed)  
I never needed anybody's help in any way (now)  
But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured (and now I find)  
Now I find, I've changed my mind, I've opened up the doors.   
  
Help me if you can, I'm feeling down  
And I do appreciate you being 'round  
Help me get my feet back on the ground  
Won't you, please, please help me?   
  
  
And now my life has changed in, oh, so many ways  
My independence seems to vanish in the haze  
But every now and then I feel so insecure  
I know that I just need you like I've never done before.  
  
Help me if you can, I'm feeling down  
And I do appreciate you being 'round  
Help me get my feet back on the ground  
Won't you, please, please help me?   
  
When I was younger, so much younger than today  
I never needed anybody's help in any way  
But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured  
Now I find, I've changed my mind, I've opened up the doors.   
  
Help me if you can, I'm feeling down  
And I do appreciate you being 'round  
Help me get my feet back on the ground  
Won't you, please, please help me?  
Help me, help me.”

Gabriel had long since given up his hilarious act of a round of applause after every song but still gave the small smile that Dean knew was the best sign of respect he was ever going to receive from the other boy.

Cas hadn’t stopped watching Dean the entire time. Since coming to Christo’s, Dean had aged. Effectively, he had gone through puberty all at once. Although not skinny as a child, he has now grown from 3ft to more like 6ft and developed muscle where there was none. His dirty, short blonde hair was still spiked like it had been, but his face had grown and was pleasantly accompanied with stubble along his jaw line. To accompany his handsome attributes, his voice had dropped an octave lower, a low rumble when he spoke and then it melts away into tender honey smoothness that should be illegal for the things it did to Castiel. No, he isn’t The Doctor, he can’t time travel. It is a perk of the drug. Biologically, he is 6 years old and the innocence associated with that age escapes out in some of his features (useable for whatever problems that could arise on a job). However physically, Dean looked more like a mature 16 year old - which was above average - for a first year.

 The only thing that remained the same was his lush green eyes that danced and watched Castiel sometimes. And when blue hit green and met in the middle... If that wasn’t clicking, Cas never wanted to find out what could be. There was something shadowing Dean, Castiel could feel it in his core... But with the guitar in his hands, a good song flowing from his tongue and a gaze in Cas’ direction... He could swear, Dean looked happy. Until, Charlie picked the next song. Wheatus – Teenage Dirtbag.

“Chaarlieeee.” Dean whined, flicking a piece of popcorn that had landed near him at her face.

“I’m bored, and don’t knock it Dean, this is a fabulous song.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “Fine...” He looked around. They’re his friend’s right? This wasn’t that big of a deal; he could always lie his way out of it. _What else would be the point of Saturdays lesson?_ “Anyone got anything we could use as a blindfold?”

Eyebrows raised and the interest of the group was spiked.

“Feeling kinky Deano?”

“Don’t get cute with me Gabe, I’m more afraid of Kali than you.” Not missing a beat, Dean’s response shut the prankster up and earned him a “damn straight” from Kali.

“So do we have anything that we could use?” He looked around to see shrugs aimed at him. Sighing, he considered the scars on his chest. They had mostly healed, but then there were the scars he received before he came here. The drugs are good, but the effects only started when the gene was fully ‘awoken’ in Dean. Placing his guitar on the dirt next to him, he swiftly pulled his black shirt off, chucking all his insecurities out the window, and walked a few paces away from the group where there was more space.

Ash wolf whistled and Anna laughed.

“Alright Dean, what’s with the strip tease?” She asked.

Whipping the shirt so that it cracked in the air, he smirked back at her, “Blindfold, now come on. Someone tie this around my eyes, don’t wanna be accused of cheating.”

They had moved away from the heater so as to get a better view; Charlie secured the shirt around his eyes and went back to sit with the others.

Turning to face them, he encouraged one of them to challenge him, “Come on, one of you. Just a little play fight, nothing serious. Let’s say, winner gets to pick the next song.”

Everyone gave each other doubting looks. Gabriel stood, dusting the mud scuffs from his ass, “What? A chance to wail on Rodgers? I’d be crazy to pass that up.”

Confidently, he strode out to join Dean.

“That’s the spirit Gabe.”

Barely finishing his sentence, Gabriel threw the first punch. Dean ducked like he saw it coming and The Garrison gasped.

“Ok, that was cool!” Ash jumped up and then sat back down.

Squinting at him, despite Dean not being able to see, Gabriel made to attack him again. Dean outer blocked, hooking Gabriel’s wrist; when he thought he had him, Gabriel used his strength to spin away from Dean. As if it hadn’t fazed him, Dean dropped to the floor, missing another one of Gabe’s punches and swept his leg around knocking Gabe to the ground in a cloud of dust.

Laughter erupted from the little crowd but Dean stayed where he was, hands on his hips, blindfold pushed up enough to see the blush rising on Gabriel’s face. Standing up, Gabriel looked at them menacingly and in particular Cas who was having touble breathing because of his laughter.

“You think you can beat him, hop to it Cassie! Oh, and if any of you mention this outside of The Garrison EVER, I will maim you all in your sleep.”

Anna rolled her eyes, “Don’t worry Gabs, your dignity is wholly intact, over there on the floor where you left it.”

The girls giggled and Gabriel sulked beside them. Cas hadn’t moved from his position beside Ash.

“Come on Cas, I promise I won’t hurt ya. Hey if you win, maybe I will let you put Passenger on.”

“I was not concerned that you may cause me injury, you should remember I have been doing this for longer than you.” Speaking as he got up, he made his way over to where Dean was smugly standing.

“You know what? Let’s make this interesting, Cas, go grab some short staffs, two each buddy. And Char, I want eye of the tiger on.”

“Yeah well I’m adding if Cas wins, you have to tell us where you learned to do that!”

“Even if you win!” Kali added.

The guitar riff began, Dean making the most of a show like in Rocky. Carefully, Cas tapped his hands with the two sticks that were to be his and Dean’s palms opened instantly. Surprised, Cas moved a bit further away, waiting for Dean to make the first move.

Rolling the sticks with his wrists, Cas became mesmerised by the way Dean’s muscles flexed. He also noticed the visible scars on Dean’s chest but he didn’t have time to dwell on that for long as the clash of wood came down upon his own; he had barely seconds to bring his hands up to defend against the blow.

From then on, the sticks clattered against each other and they fell into a rhythm. High, low, high, high and low again. It was fun, to be this close to each other, the sweat building and heart rates accelerating. Cas’ stick hit flesh; he took the opportunity to strike down with his other weapon to half disarm Dean. He looked taken aback, but Dean fought with all his vigour from before. Bracing his stick against Cas’, he grabbed the top using his staff to force Cas’ hand off it. Both boys were down to one staff each. The clash began again, high, low, low, low, high. Cas landed a palm to Dean’s kidneys while holding his other hand off, causing the boy to inhale sharply and drop the stick. Finishing him off, Cas took Dean to the floor. His body pushed flush against Dean’s, one hand bracing himself in the space next to Dean’s head and the other holding the staff to Dean’s throat.

Heavily panting, he could feel Dean’s breathe on his face. Eyes still covered, Cas thought he could feel Dean’s eyes looking at him through the fabric of his shirt. That’s when Castiel realised his mistake. A mischievous grin was plastered on Dean’s face as he wrenched the staff from his throat, entwined their legs and knocked Cas’ free standing arm. Positions reversed, Dean used one of his hands to peek out from the blindfold.

Big blue eyes stared up at him, still quite dazed and confused.

“Mom, Dad keep it PG.” Gabriel yelled from Kali’s lap where he had collapsed.

Relishing the feel of _Cas_ beneath him, he forced himself up. Hand out, he pulled Cas from the floor and walked back to the group tugging the black shirt back over his head; again shielding his body from the others view.

Sitting around the camp fire, they fixed their eyes on Dean expectantly.

“What?” Shrugging at them, Dean spoke around a mouthful of popcorn.

“Come on Dean, spill. Where on Earth did you learn to fight blind?!”

“Doesn’t matter.” He mumbled.

“Er... Yeah it does. Point one, that’s freaking badass. Point two, Cas won so get talking!” Anna chimed in.

“Ok, first Anna, Cas did not win,” Cas shot him a dirty look, “It was a draw. But if you all insist...”

“YES.” United they implored him to get on with it.

 _Just one lie..._ His eyes met Cas’. _One story from my past. This one can’t hurt._

 

“So... My Dad was one of these guys, like all of yours. He used to tell me that he was a marine,” Dean frowned at the now obvious lie, “Anyway, he used to talk to me about these mosh pits so the men could get stronger, fight better. Dad didn’t have a real good job, being a mechanic wasn’t going to raise two kids. I found out he was part of an illegal fighting ring. When he started training me, it wasn’t like the ring. He just sort of took me down there, with The Colt and told me to play while he fights. That’s where I learnt to perform. Then one day, when I’m fixing my Dad up after a fight, this guy comes over and challenges my Dad 20k for me to fight him in piñata. He-“

“Question: what’s piñata in this context?”

“Oh erhm, well the underground fights don’t just have fist fights, there are actually hundreds of variations. Like, Mr Popularity, where the guy or girl with the biggest cheer gets a weapon to start the fight with. Or there’s ah, yeah, my favourite, Lend Me a Hand, where you have one hand tied behind your back. But yeah, piñata is both guys get blindfolded and fight till the other is unconscious usually.”

“Oh. That’s brutal.”

“Anyway, so my Dad makes like 1 or 2k a fight but 20,000 dollars? Sammy could go to college. Could have gone...” He paused, memories he had been hiding away rising suddenly to the surface, “Well the point is that’s a lot of money. But I wasn’t ready. I was good at fighting hand to hand combat but blindfolded? Nah man, my Dad kicked my ass for 2 weeks. Every day, for about 5 hours he would blind me and then come at me from every angle. Until, one day, I blocked his jab. Then his next, then the knife and bat and chain. He took, me back to that ring and I fought a guy who was 3 times my size, blindfolded. And he whooped my ass too! But the next time I went, I beat both my fights. And I won 25,000 dollars.“

A stunned silence settled over them. Out of the blue, literally, Cas hugged him. Unsure, but enjoying the feel of strong hands against him, Dean sagged into the touch.

“You are a good person Dean.”

Dean would remember those words, spoken by his best friend because he knew that the coming sessions with Alastair were going to get harder. He hugged Cas tighter at the thought. 6 friends, who were more like family to him, enjoying each other’s company and finding hope in their times together.

How easy is it to fall into routine, when the bonds holding you together are just bones to break.


	5. 4 Cracks To Tear Down The Wall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, hey guys! So just over a week, I wasn't completely lying! :3  
> Thanks for reading, and get ready it's a pretty heavy chapter. I was going to add the rest of my plan *the famous imaginary plan* into this one but I need time to write the 'End of this chapter Dean' properly. Yeah, so Saturday hopefully guys!  
> Poor Dean, he loves that guitar almost as much as he loves Cas. Did I just say that? That was definitely cheesy. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: TORTURE
> 
> And some actual Destiel *faints*  
> Don't worry you lovely shippers, the next chapters are going to be so Destiel feelsy you are going to be sending me hate mail. I joke of course, but seriously, hit me back, just to chat. Truly yours, your honored shitty fiction writer. :) LOVE YOU GUYS XXX

It has been 3 weeks. 23 days on the rack; of lying to friends and feeling your own body be ripped apart only for it to heal and the sequence to repeat again.

This last session had been the worst. If it was just physical, the knives and broken bones and seeping blood, Dean might be able to handle it. But it’s worse, so much so that Dean tries to will the power to cut the tongue of that snake out each time he collapses off the rack. Alastair talks to him about his past, no knowledge is held behind the words, but Alastair is the King of torture for a reason. He makes small assumptions and then gauging the reaction of his victims, he presses further. Pushing and shoving, chipping at the wall to get the real last name out of his students.

Today, he was feeling particularly fond of the sibling route; making out loud observations as he slices flesh, snaps the bones of Dean’s fingers, talking over the wrecked screams that fall ashamedly from Dean’s trembling lips.

“I think,” Alastair circled, wiping the blade clean of Dean’s blood and placing the used weapon on an increasingly filling table, “That you had a brother.”

Closing his eyes, Dean tried in vain to block the raspy wisp of a voice that aired from his tormentor. Metal clinked, but he forced himself not to look. “Yes, a younger brother. Probably Daddy’s favourite.” Dean flinched. “Such a shame really... Dead is he?”

Agonizingly slowly, Alastair inserted a rusted hook into the space directly below the clavicle, tearing through muscle and causing crimson fluid to dribble miserably down Dean’s bare chest. 

Releasing the wrist restraints, the older man hoisted Dean into the air. Shrieking and swinging like a pendulum on a piece of string, the body hanging in the middle of the room slumped and went limp on one side. Desperately, Dean tried to grab the base of the hook, hoping to pull himself up enough to relieve the pressure shredding his shoulder joint. It was no use.

Alastair, continuing his memoires, walked past Dean, knocking into him and starting the swinging more violently than before. He could feel the hook jerking upwards as he cursed at the throbbing surrounding his whole arm.

“He looked up to you; maybe you were his only role model.”

Step. Step. Push. Scream.

“Or, maybe it’s more than that. You looked after him. Taught him,” the vile man paused, catching Dean’s face and turning him to meet his gaze. “No. No you wouldn’t teach your precious baby brother to be a monster like you, would you Dean? I see it all. Your eyes talk so much more than your lips. So little self worth and something stormy eating you up inside. Share it with me Dean. I can make the pain stop.” Blood trickled out of Dean’s mouth, his jaw set firm as he met the demon's inky black eyes.

“Fuck you.” Spitting blood into the man’s face, he turned away from Dean.

Icy chuckles echoed in the secluded room. The man’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. In one fluid motion, Alastair twisted round, the crooked smile breaking his face, and kicked Dean so hard in the chest that the momentum threw him backwards and brought the hook out slightly from where it was firmly lodged. Coupled with the still swinging sensation, the hook began to tear upwards. In jagged motions, screams filling the room and tears falling down a young man’s face, the hook ripped up and out of Dean’s body, his clavicle bone fragmenting and a 3 inch gash spilling blood all over the floor.

Collapsed on the ground, Dean shuddered with the sobs that chocked his windpipe. _Just because I heal, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like a bitch._ Stalking over, like a predator to the prey, Alastair slunk in the shadows behind Dean. “What is your real name, _boy?_ ”

“Go fuck yourself you fucked up son of a bitch.” Dean retched, speaking between breaths, heaving blood and spilling tears alike all over the concrete floor.

A boot connected with Dean’s ribs, causing Dean to fall down from where he was crouching, holding himself up with one trembling arm, and roll over to his side; he tried to use his feet to push himself away.  

“You are a very interesting subject. No matter, I will see you soon and we can try out some concoctions from the chemistry department.”

The smell of copper and metal clogged Dean’s senses. He could not move.

An irritated sigh penetrated the suffocating atmosphere in the room. "Dean, if you do not get out of my sight, I will take you out of lessons for a week and we will see how strong you real-“

With everything he had, Dean made it to all fours (threes) and pushed himself to his feet. Wobbly, he fell forward into the door frame, hitting his still oozing shoulder on the cold steel. Wheezing, vision pulsing white and red, he navigated down the corridors back to his dorm.

The chill the December air brought whipped through him. He ached for the pain to stop, for the blood to stop pumping rapidly around his body. Vaguely aware of shouting coming from the area in front of him, he surmised that the Arena was still open and going strong... At 5 am. Going to these sessions at night meant that more often than not, Dean only got 2 hours sleep. If he could sleep. Eventually, he just buckled from the insomnia, earning him 6 hours of fitful rest; only for the torture to come again.

Consciousness starting to slip away as he braced himself on the railing of the stairs, he dropped to his butt half way up. He hadn’t been down to the pit with Cas and The Garrison in days. In fact, besides Anna, he hadn’t seen any of them in ages. Somewhere in the depths of his gut he felt an overwhelming loneliness and longing to be with them. Or more specifically, Cas. What with his always plush brown hair and electric blue eyes, muscular build and gravelly voice... His strong hands, hands that have killed, choosing to brace and comfort Dean. Yes, Dean longed for the touch of his best friend. A coil of heat settled over his heart. _So that’s what clicking feels like._

Mustering the strength from the cold embrace in the air Dean strained to move his body up the stairs. Broken hand gingerly using the wall to help him walk, he fumbled the key in the door. Still shirtless, he fell into their room. Anna wasn’t in her bed.

Confused but losing too much blood to care, he subsided onto the floor beside his own bed. With his right hand, he scrabbled at the drawers to get the medical kit out. Shaking with the effort and the delirium settling over him, he picked up the already threaded needle (silently thanking his Dad for teaching him that) holding it awkwardly between his shattered index finger and healthy middle finger. He pressed the sharp tip into his skin. The area was numb but he still recoiled somewhat at the knowledge and feel of thread through his flesh. There was nothing he could do to set the bone, so he focused on stopping the bleeding.

Gradually, he felt himself slither away. The effort of movement became too much. The black fringed his eyes, eclipsing the feeble light overhead. He could fix his shoulder in the morning. There was still time.

For now, the order to tear down the wall had been given. 

 

Waking up cold, aching and bloody would have ranked high in the ‘things Dean hates' list. As it was, when Dean’s eyes flickered open to see the sun just peeking through the window (3 hours sleep somewhere further down on the list) he felt only one of those things.

He could recall falling down beside his bed and in vein trying to fix his shoulder. Carefully, he rolled the joint, testing the bones. He could feel where the threads had started to knit back together; his hand came up to join the inspection... Came up from under covers? Just as the confusion melded his senses into action a familiar voice soothed his concern.

“Hello Dean.”

Rising up so that he was sitting in his bed, _still not over it_ , he met the tired stare of Cas who was perched on top of his chest of drawers. He looked two things: drained and pissed. However, with Cas’ pensive expression it was arguable that he looked this way all the time.

“Hey Cas...” He yawned, mouth bitter with the taste of blood, ”how long you been here watching me sleep?”

“About as long as the Arena shut and I walked Anna here. You were unconscious. Bleeding heavily. You had started to fix the wound, but had clearly faded out. I helped Anna sort out your shoulder, then was about to leave when you had a dream.” A faint smile caught the edges of Cas’ lips.

“A dream huh?”

“Yes. You repeated my name several times and then broke into sobbing asking for help. I told Anna to sleep in my room and that I would watch over you.”

A red flush ran up Dean’s cheeks. “Oh... Er... Sorry, dude that’s pretty creepy huh?”

Cas smiled outright now, shaking his head and looking at his feet hanging over the edge of the drawers. “Not at all.”

 

 

In the grand scheme of life at Christo’s, this was minor. But for Dean, it was another piece of him dying and flaking away from his body; when music plays such an important role in your life, it was huge.

The iPod ran out of battery. No more memories, no link to Sammy. He couldn’t even learn to play new songs anymore, he wasn’t a musical prodigy, he needed to listen to the song repeatedly to work out the chords, tempo and rhythm.

Sitting in the Pit, the Garrison talking mostly among themselves, Dean hid away. Without the music, the atmosphere was darker, tenser and overall less fun. Music always had a strange way of calming him; he could remember his mother through the song, his brother through the artist and his father through the lyrics. Losing that, Dean didn’t know who he was anymore.

Maybe Dean Rodgers doesn’t like music. Or friends. Absently looking up from The Colt, which he has carried around with him but not played since the incident happened, Cas’ eyes held him still. It was intense and hard to look at his best friends face when he wasn’t sure what was happening – he was slipping away, inside himself.

Charlie and Ash glanced at him sympathetically. The Garrison knew he hadn’t broken yet; he had alluded to the significance of music to him. Gabe and Kali had been sent out on a job meaning even snarky comments couldn’t drag Dean from the place in his head.

Useless. First he is taught to fight and then when it matters doesn’t use it. Then he just leaves Sammy all alone. How could he? If Dad was alive he would have beat Dean six different ways by now. He was pathetic. A bad son. To his mother? He left her there to die in a pool of her own blood and be engulfed in flames. If anyone should have died that night, Dean would be the least missed. Sammy needed his Mom and Dad. Dean, well. He was just Daddy’s blunt little instrument. No matter what his Mom said. Not even ‘Hey Jude’ could save him from that one.

Startled by a soft touch on his arm, he sprang up from where he was huddled. Sorrowful eyes looked up at him, but he refused to meet Anna’s outstretched hand.

“I’ll see you guys later,” mumbling, he hurried to throw his guitar over his healthy shoulder and exit the Pit.

“Dean wait!” Ash called after him.

“Leave me alone.”The doors banged in the loud silence. In a trance, he made his way to the Arena. _Drink down your problems Dean, Dad would have been proud._

Samandriel, Sam, who was behind the bar, became quite good friends with Dean. He was kind and innocent, a true poster boy for the drugs. Sliding his guitar into the safe place Sam had provided and grabbing a beer, Dean hopped over the bar and twisted the cap off. Nonchalantly glugging down the contents, he made his was over to the ring.

Fighting, he was aware of the anger slowly draining out of him. Fists connecting with flesh, snatching bottles from the crowd and downing the harsh unknown liquid, he made his way through 3 opponents.

Shoulder beginning to protest against the strenuous activity, people eventually trickled out of the Arena. Drunkenly, he tripped round the side of the bar. Slumping down beside his guitar, the lights shut off in quick succession. His face stung with cuts, bones nearly protruding through the skin of his hands. Ruined, he stared up at the plaques that were lined in military precision on the wall, reading them each in turn.

His jaw dropped in disbelief.

_John Winchester – Ring fight champion 1960 – 1962_

Tears pricked the edges of his eyes. Thumbing his lifeless iPod from the inside of his pocket, he lost the fight against his bitter tears. The first crack appeared, but only a streak of light offered by the moon filtered through the windows and witnessed the event. 

 

 

Dean didn’t fear management.

Slowly, he walked the lifeless corridor, Anna at his side, hand settled awkwardly in his own. Squeezing it reassuringly, he bid her a weak smile which she returned. The door before them was steel, reinforced obviously, with two guards positioned on either side, vigilant eagles surveying the white washed walls.

A cold recognition settled over Dean at the two figures that left the room. Taller now, he looked into the eyes of his mother’s murderer; he scowled at the false smile she plastered on.

“She’s ready to see you.” Uriel’s deep voice reverberated around the empty corridor.  Emotionless, the two guards on the door ushered them in, Uriel and Rachel leaving his view in hushed breaths.

Central to the room was an enormous white desk, in fact, the whole room resonated white and the gleam caused Dean to blink for a few seconds so that his mind could adjust. Two chairs were pulled out, inviting. Naomi continued to scribble at the page on her desk; apparently, she didn’t even notice their presence.

Shrugging at Anna, she sighed back at him and took the seat on the far left. Moments after, he joined her on the right, bright lights scrutinizing him from above.

“Dean Rodgers and Anna Milton.” Unrelenting from the words she was writing on the paper, she spoke. Silence ensued causing her to look up and gesture for them to confirm.

“Oh...Yes Ma’am.” Anna talked first, confidence rolling off her tongue.

“Naomi.” Dean followed, not nearly showing the respect that was expected from him. Frowning, Naomi pressed a button under her desk. Zachariah entered from a side door and grabbed Dean’s still healing shoulder making him wince in pain.

“That’s Ma’am to you, _kid_.” Punctuating his sentence with another firm squeeze, the old man shuffled out as quickly as he shuffled in.

“Dean Rodgers.” She repeated, tone thick with patronisation.

“Yes...” _Don’t do it Dean._ “Ma’am.”

“Good.” Mechanically, she placed her pen down. “As I understand it, you are the only two of your year not to have clicked yet.

Dean gulped. This cannot be good.

“No Ma’am.”

“Regrettable as that is, we must now look to widen your horizons.” Regarding Anna now, “You have met with Garth, Anna. If your performance with him last night was anything to go by, I would say you have clicked.”

A faint smile slunk over Anna’s features. Head twitching in scepticism, Dean scoffed. So that’s why she had been so distant lately. _Figures_. Leaning back in his chair, Dean huffed out a breath of air.

“As for you Mr Rodgers, no replacement is suitable. You may have noticed that most first years biological gene rate takes them to maybe 8-10 years old.” She eyed him heavily, “Your previous advantage is an obvious obstacle when pairing you up.”

It was true. Dean considered sharing his room with Anna over the last couple of weeks, it was getting almost embarrassing. He still regarded her as one of his closest friends though; he smiled at her supportively when she looked at him a nervous expression playing over her face.

“What about the third years?” Dean questioned, “16 is fairly average for the bottom end of that pool.”

Taken aback by his brashness in suggesting moving up with an older year, she smiled inwardly to herself. The drugs were indeed stronger, more powerful... More _useful_ than before.

“Yes well, unfortunately, there are no single third years although your point is duly noted. Therefore, you will be moved to a single room, C24.” Handing him the key, she smirked slyly. “Your possessions will need to be removed so that Garth can move in with Anna. Despite your change in room, your schedule will remain largely the same; we won’t be sending you on any jobs just yet. Good luck, my children.”

With a flick of her wrist she dismissed them, steel door opening to lead them out. Just as his foot crossed the verge of her office, he turned to her suddenly.

“Ma’am?”

“What is it Rodgers?”

“Do I... Any changes? Am I to be taken off torture on Tuesdays?”

“My last report from Alastair informed me that you are quickly becoming his favourite student. I believe he hasn’t broken you yet, and even then, it sounds as though he has plans for you. Otherwise, yes your schedule would have dropped torture.”

The words decayed the last hope in his slowly sinking heart.

In a haze, he walked the long way back to his dorm, new key jangling in his hand. It was icy cold against his skin. Similarly detached, he emptied out his drawers into the box that had been provided. Looping his guitar over his shoulder, he was hastily embraced by Anna. He saw Garth through the blank that covered his eyes and nodded at him. Perhaps Anna would bring him down to the pit and he would get to know the pleasant, shy boy smiling back.

His new room was a floor above and at the furthest end of the corridor. Honestly, it probably could have been mistaken for a storage cupboard. The lock clanked and the door swung open. Entering his new room, he kicked the door shut with his foot. _On the plus side, no more Anna to nag at him for doing that._

There was much less space: a single bed pushed against the wall marking the exact length of the room and a narrow walk way before coming into the main room. Dull grey walls loomed around him; they seemed to emphasise the way the room was Tetris-style put together. Dumping the box of clothing on his bed, he carefully laid the Colt down beside it. The new chest of drawers was positioned like a bedside table and behind him the door to the bathroom remained shut.

Carelessly stepping onto his bed and over the box, he made it to the window ledge. He hadn’t played his guitar in days and his fingers ached to feel the strings and waves vibrate through him. Gently, as if he didn’t trust himself not to break it, Dean lifted the strap over his head.

The tips of his fingers brushed against the strings making Dean shudder at the familiar sensation. Gradually picking up pace, the song flowed naturally from his lips.

“Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away  
Now it looks as though they're here to stay  
Oh, I believe in yesterday.  
  
Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be  
There's a shadow hanging over me.  
Oh, yesterday came suddenly.”

From the corner of his mind, Dean heard scuffing from outside his door. Sighing, he leant his guitar against the wall beside him. He hadn’t even realised how dark it had gotten, his room shadowed in inky blackness.

“Come on in guys, and put the light on would you?”

The door creaked open. Charlie’s head popped around the side before being followed in by Ash and Cas.

“Jesus Dean! What you doing in here summoning the Dark Lord?” Ash chimed, searching the wall for the light switch.

Once flicked, the room filled with a dim yellow light and 3 bustling people.

“Dean! Your room is so much smaller than I thought it would be.” Charlie grinned, inspecting his room, ”You haven’t even un packed yet?”

“Yes Dean, it seems inefficient to leave your room in this state. How will you find clothing for tomorrow?” Cas leant against the wall, unsure where to stand in the quickly evaporating space. Ash was sprawled across the floor, Charlie sitting cross legged beside him.

“Tha’s tomorrow’s problem Cas.” Dean winked, causing red to bloom across Cas’ cheeks. An uneasy silence settled over the room.

“Hey guess what?” Leg bouncing, Charlie could barely contain her excitement.

“What?” Dean and Cas supplied at the same time, eyes connecting for a second in surprise before focusing back on the people scrunched onto Dean’s concrete floor.

“Oh come on Char! No one cares that-“

“IT’S CHRISTMAS IN 4 DAYS!”

“What?!” Dean’s eyes bolted wide open in shock. He had been there over a month and he wasn’t going to be able to talk to Sammy on Christmas. _Fuckitey fuck bitch son._ “Char, Ash-“

“Dr Badass or I don’t answer.” Ash murmured from the floor.

“ _Dr Badass_ is it possible... Is there any way to make untraceable calls here?”

That perked the attention of the computer nerds on the floor.

“Why?”

“Humour me.”

Charlie considered his answer. “Well... No.”

Ash continued. “The hack we have in the system is an algorithm that allows us to see in. Imagine it like a translucent window shopper. We can look in, we can explore through files, watch videos saved on hard drives and decode their encryption. But phone calls are all kept on file, so in answer to your question: we can view the call, who it was made to and where it is saved on their databases, but to change the information? No way. Not without alerting the average hackers they got patrolling their systems.”

Mouth slightly agape, Dean stared at Ash, rolling his eyes. “A simple no would have been enough smart ass.”

The night rolled on, more laughter shared between these walls than Dean has had all week. It still felt a little bit empty without the remaining members, but it was good none the less. When the early hours of the morning greeted the teens, Charlie, Ash and Cas made their leave. Pulling on Cas’ sleeve, he held him back for a second.

“Hey Cas, can I ask you a favour?”

Cas turned to look at him, “Of course Dean.”

“Look, if Gabe was here I’d get him to get it for me.” Scribbling on a piece of paper, Dean thrust the list at him. “Would you be able to get these things for me?”

Sceptically, Cas scanned down the list, “Most of these are simple objects, if I need to Balthazar will assist me.”

“Great! Can you get them to me tomorrow?”

“I have combat with Meg, I doubt I will be able to-“

“ _Cas_ please, I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important.”

Pausing, Cas sighed as he left the room, “Yes Dean. Your problems always come first.”

 

True to his word, the next evening Cas dropped by Dean’s room to give him the objects. Knocking on the door, Dean called for him to enter. Distractedly, Cas walked into Dean’s room.

He was kneeling on his bed, using his chest of drawers to lean on with a soldering iron in his hand and magnifying glass over a mobile phone. Dean was topless; Cas had to bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut to stop the urge of touching Dean when he placed the contents on the bed beside him.

Up close, not in combat, Cas could see the scars that covered the surface of Dean’s skin. Small imperfections that had managed to disrupt Dean’s otherwise flawless body. Cas wanted to know the story of every single one of them, particularly the pale lightning zigzags that he hadn’t noticed on the palms of Dean’s hands before.  

Pushing his goggles up and dropping the tool on the surface of drawers Dean inspected the bag Cas dropped on his bed. face lit up, Dean pulled Cas into a hug.

“You are the best buddy!” Cas drooped into the hug, daring his hands to come up and rest on the warmth at the base of Dean’s back. The other boy pulled away grinning, tipping the components onto the bed and taking what he needed next. Cas made to leave when a burning question forced itself out, “What are you doing Dean?”

Unwavering, Dean answered, “Need to make a private call dude.”

“I see. So what are the wires and chips for?”

“Components of a scrambling device. When I make it right,” his body bent back to grab something else, his concentration not falling, “And I will, I can make a call and this place will be none the wiser.”

Cas was silent for a few seconds, absorbing the new information. “That is against orders.”

The hands working furiously stilled, Dean’s eyebrow quirking up, “You going to grass on me Cas?”

“I value our friendship higher than the rules of murdering psychopaths so no Dean.”

“Thank God! Heh, that’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Circling to leave Dean to work, not wanting to disturb him, Dean suddenly called him back.

“Stay, Cas. You can stay, if you want.”

The other teen smiled, “Ok Dean.”

A palpable comforting silence embraced them, Cas sitting far back on the bed to brace himself on the wall, Dean still labouring away at the burner cell. Eyes closed, Cas allowed his thoughts to fill the empty space in the room.

“Where did you get the phone from?”

Dean scoffed, “What Cas, you think I can’t flirt my way into a girls room and slip her phone out of her bag, you injure me!”

Playfully kicking his leg so that it knocked Dean, Cas chuckled quietly.

“Assbutt.”

Dean finished soldering, an incredulous smirk on his face. “Assbutt?”

“Yes, you successfully incorporate all my definitions of an ‘ass’ and Gabriel often calls me a ‘butt head’ so it fits.”

Laughing at Cas’ explanation, Dean rolled the newly modified phone in his hand, he leaned back beside Cas.

“You aren’t going to use it?” Cas looked down at the 16 year old slumping slightly into his side.

“Nah, need to find...” he yawned, “some place without cameras.”

Silence crept over them.

"Hey Cas?" In a sleepy haze, Dean wormed down slightly so that his head was resting on Cas' shoulder, green eyes tentatively looking into blue.

"Yes Dean?"

"Do you... Do you sing?"

A throaty chuckle vibrated through Cas' chest. "No Dean."

"Would you try. I don't mind what song and I won't tell the others I promise."

"Erhm, ok. I'm telling you I don't sing though. 

In the spring we made a boat  
Out of feathers, out of bones.  
We set fire to our homes,  
Walking barefoot in the snow.  
  
Distant rhythm of the drum  
As we drifted towards the storm.  
Baby lion lost his teeth,  
Now they're swimming in the sea." 

Cas can't sing. His voice is far too deep and the gravel that laces his tone makes the words come out all in the wrong tune. But Dean liked it. It was just so  _Cas._  

"Mom used to sing to me..." Dean mumbled, sleep dragging away the lift of his eyes.

They fell into dream filled slumber like that; if when they woke, Cas’ arm was holding Dean close and Dean’s hand clasped onto Cas’ hip keeping him tight against him, neither boy mentioned it as they parted ways.  

 

 

I was walking back to my room when I heard the clicks of footsteps behind me. Increasing my speed, I went to go into the nearest open door. Two hands pulled me back.

“Michael? Lucifer?”

A pinprick in my neck answered. Thin fabric was placed over my head. My last coherent thought before consciousness became a distant memory was, _Dean._

 

 

Slipping out of weapons class was easy. Bobby, _Mr Singer_ Dean corrected himself, trusted Dean to just practise. New skills didn’t need to be taught; all Dean needed to do was improve his accuracy. So, as he made his way round the back of the lesson to the back door, he exited the firing range without so much as a glance.

On his midnight walks when nightmares plagued his vision, Dean found areas that have blind spots. Places that weren’t specifically monitored or that were cut out by the angle of the cameras; it was down a walled walkway at the very verges of the land that Dean was stood. He stared down at the phone. It was 3 days until Christmas.

Holding his breath, Dean punched in the numbers.

It rang four times before Bill answered.

“Hello?”

“Erh, hi Bill. It’s an old friend, is Sammy there?”

“Dean?” There was a ruffling noise in the background and then Ellen’s shrill voice was on the phone, “Dean thank God sweet heart, are you alright?!”

“Yeah, yeah Ellen. I’m fine. Just wanted to talk to Sammy. I haven’t got long.”

“What is wrong with your voice, Dean?”

“I... There are these drugs. You knew Mom and Dad, this place. I look about 16 El.”

“My poor baby. Sam? Come here sweety, there is someone who wants to talk to you...."

"Ello?”

“Heyya Sammy.” Tears threatened to spill out of Dean’s eyes at the sound of his brother’s voice.

“DEEEAN!” He could hear his brother squealing and crying.

“Hey, buddy how’s it been?”

“I miss you Dean. There are all thes books I kep reading, but it’s not tha same.”

“Your talkin’ is improving too Sammy! I’m so proud of you little man, what books you reading?” Dean paced, scraping his shoe against the wall.

“Iiii... Iiinesteen.”

“Einstein?”  
“Da him! Lots of cleva stuff Deeean.”

“I always figured you would get all the smart genes.”

“When you coming hom Dean?”

“I can’t come home buddy.”

“No even for Chrissmass?”

“No, but I’ll be thinkin’ of you lil man.”

A loud wail cracked through the phone speaker, “Is it cos I’m a bad brother?”

“Nonono, of course not Sammy!” The first tear spilt out.

Sam was repeating down the phone between sobs, “Bad brother, doesn’t love me. Bad brother, doesn’t love me.”

“Sammy no wai-“

“Dean?”

“Ellen, God I’m sorry I-“

“I know this is hard for you, but Dean if Sam Winchester is going to die, his big brother has to stay dead too.”

Dean zoned out. No words formed. In the background he heard the quiet gurgle of Jo and the still weeping Sam. He couldn't hold tha pain back any longer.

“I’m really sorry but this is for Jo too. They need stability and you said so yourself it wasn’t safe. I know you love him, Jo too. I will let them know that ‘Dean’ says merry Christmas. But you can’t call Dean. You’ll break him or get yourself in trouble. We love you Dean.”

Mouth clicking shut, Dean held the phone to his ear. The buzzing of a disconnected called rang through him. Distraught, he threw the phone at the brick wall. Showering of plastic rained down upon him as he slunk to his knees. Cheeks wet from crying, Dean remained motionless on the floor.

The cracks surged up the wall.

 

He needed to find Cas. Fighting everything, he stood. Almost separate from himself, he made his way back down the corridors; he noticed scuff marks on the floor.

 

 Following the black marks in a daze, Dean stumbled straight into Uriel.

“Look where you’re going, Rodgers.”

“Have you seen Castiel?”

The man smiled, “Yeah, you might want to hurry though.”

Dean looked up threateningly.

“You see, he has this weakness, he likes you. Management can’t afford someone like you corrupting someone like him.” Uriel began to walk away.

“What in the Hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“He will not be the same.” The man called, voice echoing down the corridor as he strode away.

 _What the fuck?_ Wiping the tears from his face, Dean ploughed on. The sight before him stopped him dead in his tracks.

Cas was marching away from a very arrogant Michael and Lucifer. Not even glancing at Dean, a bloody Cas passed by.

For a fleeting instant, Dean thought he had imagined it. Quickly chasing him down, Dean stopped in front of Cas. He placed his hand on the others shoulder.

“Cas?”

The other boy looked disgusted at the hand on his shoulder and brushed it off.

“Cas wait!”

“No Dean. I learnt something while I was away, I serve my orders, I do not serve my friends and I definitely don’t serve you.” 

And Dean let him leave. Just like that, Dean let Cas walk right back out of his life. 

"You won't be bothering my little brother anymore Snotgers." Lucifer pushed past Dean. 

"What did you do to him?" It was supposed to be confident but with the wall already cracked, it came out young and pathetic.

"We reminded him where his loyalties lie, minimal bloodshed obviously."

"Where's he going?" Nothing more than a whisper came out that was supposed to be to himself. 

"On a job," Michael sighed, "He's going to work Dean. Him and his partner Meg. So back off."

Blinking and sniffing, Dean shook his head. "No." But no one was there to hear his protest. A lost streak ran through him. Something ached in his chest and for the first time it wasn't a new wound. He felt cold all over, like all the happiness had been sucked out of him leaving the empty shell behind.

The wall was dangerously close to breaking down leaving him abandoned on the floor of the corridor.

 

 

“Say it with me Dean.”

“Social isolation.” They mirrored one another.

“Nourishment dispossession.” In sync Dean whispered.

“Sensory over stimulation.” Dean whimpered at the memories.

“Sleep deprivation.” Well, that wasn’t exactly new.

“Weakness manipulation.” Alastair spoke the last one by himself, forcefully stabbing the needle into Dean’s pulsing vein. "We're trying something new today." Tapping Dean's cheek to grasp his attention that was filtering in and out, Alastair stood up, "Don't fight it Dean. Let it in. Tell me what you see."

At first it burned. The steely stab of a needle piercing his skin renewing a piece of his consciousness. Then it was cold. Galloping, burning ice that chased the venom through his veins. Shaking his head he screamed out. The room was too small. His head was too big. Blinking in confusion his vision seeped black and white. It hurt. No where in particular and then everywhere at once. Rapidly pulsing, his brain throbbed against the new drug. It was black. He tried to clear his eyes but nothing was working. He was struggling against the restraints. Leather cutting thick red slashes into his skin. Marking him. And the heat. Oh God not the heat. Or the smell of smoldering flesh and the room flashed red. Oranges. Screaming. Mom. Dad. Sammy. 

"NOO." He was shrieking. Body still fighting. Straining and gasping until the last distraught breath fell from his lungs causing him to inhale sharply the scent of blood and tears. Defeated, he scrunched his eyes up. He shook his head. No. His body tensed. Every muscle fiber went taut and rigid against his bones. 

"Dean Winchester you look me in the God damn eyes when I'm talking to you, boy."

Instantly his eyes flew open. Tears brimmed around the edges of his eyes. 

Broken lips fell apart. A sickening crack extending through his head...

_Dad?_


	6. Don't Hear, Listen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!  
> Why is it that on a word document this is damn long and when I upload it, it looks like nothing!  
> Ok I'm sorry, but guess what?
> 
> Christmas holidays start next week so I am going to be full on writing. *Silence* I joke of course, I'm glad to share my creativity with you people. It is Destiel btw, just to confirm people's doubts, but like all good story writers, I need them to have a little space. A little friction, a canoconical fic in that way :)  
> Next chapter expected up next week.  
> The injection is kind of an idea I got off of the TV series Burn Notice, so yeah, not my characters or hallucinogen.  
> Hope you enjoy, and feedback if you have time.

A vacant expression settled over Dean. No, not vacant. Horrified. Fear induced. Stolen.

“What is it Dean, tell me what you see.” Despite my voice holding no malice, he still instinctively recoiled away from me; maybe that’s what makes it worse.

In reserved silence, Dean shook his head.

“Dean, stop fighting it and tell me.”

A disbelieving smile broke over his face. “No. He can’t...”

“Oh, but it can. Dean. Who do you see?”

 

_“Tell him Dean. Go on. You’re not strong enough to hold out anyways. Fucking disappointment.”_

Adamantly, shaking his head a crazed laugh fell from his cut, bruised lips, “You’re not real.” He bolted his eyes shut and whispered, “You’re not real.”

When Dean looked up again the torture chamber was gone. The restraints were gone. Alastair was gone. Checking himself out, he saw his favourite Batman t-shirt on. _How’d I get –_

_“DEAN. GET DOWN HERE.”_

“Dad?” The question tumbled out.

_“DON’T YOU QUESTION ME! GET HERE. NOW.”_

Glancing under his bed, he smiled reassuringly at his little brother. His little brother? Who looks even more little there, just a crumpled ball hiding under Dean's bed, tiny hands clamped tight over his ears; frightened eyes held wide open looking at Dean.

Cautiously, he made his way down the banister. The banister that burnt away. Brushing the cobwebs off, all of a sudden his Dad was standing over him, whisky bottle in hand; he was wavering on unsteady legs. 

_“What did I tell you?”_

Dean quivered.

_“Dean. What did I tell you about saying anything to Mary?”_

“Don’t let her know.” He muttered. 

_“And what did you do?”_

Biting his lip, he whispered, “She saw my bruise.”

The mist cleared.

 

“What did you say?”

Heart rate plummeting, (what was worse, seeing his father or being with Alastair? No Dean, Dad was a good man), he sniggered nervously, “Me? I didn’t say anything.”

The knife sliced shallow into his throat. Pulse increasing, he froze.

Alastair followed his gaze to the rusted iron wall. “What is it Dean,” he moved closer to Dean’s face. Stale breath pooling on the surface; the sinister voice diffusing through Dean’s very being. “Tell me what you see.”

_“Go on, whine about how bad your father is. How tough I’m treating you. That’s what he wants. Tell him Dean.”_

Fear sent lightning bolts through Dean. Along with something else: determination.

“Yippee ki-yay motherfucker!” 

Alastair fucking growled in frustration. He _roared_ with the anger that pulsated through him. The spear went straight through Dean’s forearm into the chair. Splintering wood cackled in the room, Dean held back the cry of pain, defiant.

_“That’s good Dean. Stronger than when I last hurt you. Can’t cry to mom now though can you?”_

Dean shut down. Factory settings came back; just like after every time John... After the training got too rough. Alastair hadn’t relented though. He was seething hatred, the calm exterior rippled in pent up annoyance.

It was out of his control. Dean wasn’t... He wasn’t all there. Not when John was standing in the doorway taunting him, chiding him into giving up.

Minutes, hours, maybe even days in Dean’s head, but the tidal wave relinquished. The leather straps clicked off. His hands landed with a splat in pooling red. Fascinated at the dripping crimson on his hands Alastair lifted Dean to his feet where two shadows were waiting.

“You are by no means special Dean. I have had hundreds stronger than you. I look forward to tomorrow’s session; perhaps I should amp up the dosage?” The man mused to himself. Unresponsive, Dean followed his Dad to his room, two black silhouettes fading away.

 

Charlie bounded up the stairs.

“Oh come on Ash, Dean will be so happy to see us!” She punched his arm, “Merry Christmas Mr Stark.”

Rolling his eyes, he grinned back at her, “Yeah yeah. You just better not of got me one of those knitted Weasly jumpers.”

Expertly walking backwards, she toyed with him, “Nah, thought you might like a Jedi dressing gown instead.”

Just as Ash was about to retaliate, they reached Dean’s door. It was open. Tentatively pushing it further, Ash went first.

“Dean?”

The lights were off. Blanketed in complete darkness, the only noise was soft strums and delicate whispering. Trailing Ash, Charlie flicked the light on. 

Dean stared at the wall. Not at them. Not even slightly moved by their presence. Cross legged on the bed, guitar held robotically and eyes disconnected.

“Dean? Dean you’re bleeding, what happened?” Charlie asked. Of course she knew what had happened but that doesn’t explain the unfazed blank look on Dean’s face. She made to move towards him, Ash standing in the ‘hallway’ and abruptly he stopped playing. He didn’t turn to look at her he just stopped. Dead.

“Ok... So, I’m going to step back now.” Dean resumed the song as though nothing had happened. Warily, she whispered to Ash, “I think you should go get Anna.” Captivated by Dean, Ash didn’t move; he was inspecting Dean’s face and posture from afar. “Ash?!”

“Yeah, yeah I’m going. Shame Cas is go-“

The music stopped again. Completely freaked out, Ash ran from the room. Charlie remained at the verge of the narrow passage and the main room; the guitar chords started again but absent, lacking the passion she knew she had always heard. Straining to listen, Dean’s voice was hollow and clipped in the relative stillness.

“When I'd take your hand   
And sing you songs   
Then maybe you would say   
Come lay with me love me   
And I would surely stay   
  
But I feel I'm growing older   
And the songs that I have sung   
Echo in the distance   
Like the sound   
Of a windmill goin' 'round   
I guess I'll always be-“

_“You didn’t even keep that safe. I can’t trust you with anything.”_

His Dad was sat, mirroring Cas in his old room, on his chest of drawers.

“Shut up.” Trying to mask his building anger, Dean swallowed thickly. _“_ A soldier of fortune.”

“I didn’t say anything...” Wide eyed, Charlie began to back away, only to walk straight into Ash and Anna.

_“You wonder why it had to be you. Sam’s the smart one and you, you were meant to be the soldier so he didn’t have to be.”_

“I SAID SHUT UP.” Dean threw The Colt down on the side of his bed. It bounced lightly on the mattress. Three wide eyed children stared at Dean.

“Dean... Can we do anything to help?”

His breathing was laboured, short and sharp breaths. Swallowing, he looked deer in the headlights at the cowering people in his doorway before inspecting the dry blood on his hands and feeling the unpleasant dwindling trickle down his throat and arms, while his skin cells began to repair themselves. Transfixed, he continued to stare at his hands. Red is such an ugly colour.

“We could really use some older help here, Gabe or Kali...” Ash spoke, “Or Cas,” he whispered, remembering Dean’s reaction earlier.

“I don’t think there is anything we can do. But you’re right. For now, we just keep an eye on him ok guys. And... Let’s not get too close, I’ve never seen Dean like this.” Anna, probably way more grown up than she should be, made the final decision. Nodding children left behind her.

“Merry Christmas Dean.” Charlie sighed sadly. She was answered by howling sobs.

 

 _“That’s right! Cry Dean. Cry like a baby. Men don’t cry._ ”

Slowly, his tears stopped flowing becoming nothing more than snivels.

_“You listened for once. What about Sam huh? You let me down again?”_

It wasn’t like his father was wrong. Dean had let him down again; at the expense of Sammy.

“I’m sorry sir.”

_“Sorry isn’t going to cut it boy. Is sorry going to help your brother? Is sorry going to fix you? No.”_

“I understand sir.”

Hanging his head ashamed, Dean rubbed absentmindedly at the red stains on his hands. His Dad was silent too, as if Dean’s lack of fight had actually surprised him. In his blind reverie, he didn’t hear his door open.

He didn’t see the needle coming at him.

He didn’t feel the two hands groping at his body, dragging him away down the lifeless corridors.

 

Gradually, his eyes struggled open.

The dirt muffled his senses and he blinked agitatedly.

_Dean!_

Stumbling over, his Dad bent down in front of him downing the last of the whisky, managing to swing round to land his butt on the wooden stool. Instantly, the motions engraved into his head forced him to lay the Colt down. Second to Sammy and his Mom, the Colt was his favourite thing in the whole damn world. Wait, maybe pie. Ok, Sammy, Mom, Pie _then_ the Colt.

_“I haven’t got all night boy, get down here and fix me up.”_

“Yes sir.”

Lifting the needle to his Dad’s flesh, he carefully began to sew the gaping cuts closed. Thin fingers worked nimble on the surface of his Dad’s wounds. He didn’t understand why, but his Dad always seemed to heal pretty good after a fight, enough that Mary doesn’t notice to ask.

“Dean.”

_What is Alastair doing here...? Oh, torture chamber, right._

Reality became a distorted illusion. The non-existent lines blurring together until his Dad wasn’t killed in the fire and Alastair had been at the fight.

“Who is it you are talking to?” Earnest eyes bored into Dean’s skull.

_“Come on Dean, it’s just a word. You are aching to say it. It is written all over your soul.”_

“N... No.” Shakily, he looked up. Standing over Alastair’s shoulder was his Dad, unfocused eyes judging him causing Dean to wince away from Alastair. Greeted once more by the piercing jab, Dean inhaled a wheezy breath.

His world warped. Studiously, Sam bent his head reading the book Dean had brought back from his advanced class at school, while Dean tapped his pencil mind preoccupied with his Mom’s hunched figure. The phone rang.

 _“John.”_ Her voice was stern and cold; nothing like the Mom he knew.

Listening, a disappointed sigh left her lips, _“No John, you can’t come home yet. I don’t know how Dean got those scars and bruises but the way you reacted tells me enough. You aren’t coming home until you can promise me it won't happen again.”_

The smell of warm pie drifted from the kitchen. But Dean wasn’t focused on that. He could hear the soft whimpers of his Mom, hot tears falling down her bright face.

 _“I don’t want you to leave us for good.”_ The timer on the oven pinged. _“I have to go.”_ Hanging up, she fully crashed onto the top surface of the counter. Instinctively, Dean made his way over to his Mom. Gently prying her away from where her body shook with crying by tugging at her sleeve, she smiled at him through the sadness. Hands up, he motioned for her to hold him. As she did so, he wrapped his small arms and hands around her neck, big green eyes meeting the puffy red of blue ones.

_Mom has nothing on Cas electric blue._

“It’s ok Mom, I love you and I will never leave you.” He heard himself repeat. Buried memories resurfacing... The rest of that time was stolen from him and he cut straight to that night in the garage.

His Dad had pulled him out of bed, the stench of stale beer wafting from his lips, for the training session.

_“I want you to tell him.”_

Ok, so that is not how that night went. Perhaps he suppressed it.

“Why?” Eyebrows knitted, he stared at his Dad.

“Where are you Dean?” The raspy voice filtered into his head like a poisonous gas.

Before he could stop himself, Dean answered, “In the garage in my old house with my –“

Inhaling a breath that chafed with the back of his throat, he managed to avoid the final word. From behind him, he felt a cold air blow past his ear.

_That was a close one._

A shudder shifted uneasily down his spine as the memory that resurfaced all around him.

Dean’s body was curled into a protective ball on the floor. The hits came pouring down. All over, blood poured from his body.

Since when was it fair for a baseball bat to be used against a kid? _I mean, that’s low even for these fights. Mr damn Popularity, if it would have been Sammy the crowd’s heart would have melted._

Then he heard the voice that caused him terror more than that bat and the 15 stone bone head that wielded it.

_“Get the fuck back up.”_

And he did. Assembling the last of his strength, Dean rolled over so that he was looking up at the towering man and incoming bat. With both hands, he gripped the bat hard and whirled round. Shakily, he made it too his feet. The crowd had silenced. Staggering forward, Dean swung the bat.

A stomach-churning snap bounded around the ring. The man’s knee subsided and he cried out. Slamming down again on the man’s head, the body stopped moving. Dean took a deep breath as his light-headedness caused him to stumble back.

_“Keep going.”_

Frowning at his Dad, he answered, “No.” He dropped the bat and pulled himself up on weak arms (with the help of the horde); his Dad took him straight home... Blood was still escaping from his wounds, broken bones and filthy black bruises mottling his skin.

Dean couldn’t bring himself to care when his Dad lifted him heavily by the arm onto his bed and wordlessly tired to fix his wounds. When as much as he could had been done, John stared at his son for a good second. His face was swollen but he showed no pain in his eyes in an effort to look strong before his Dad. The fist that connected with his face marked the exit of his father; through the tears Dean heard the words that plagued him still today.

_“That was a close one.”_

“Get away from me Dad!”

Heart nearly flailing at the slip, Alastair’s smile grew until Dean was sure the Joker would be jealous.

“Say hi to Pops for me.”

A door creaked open creating a slither of light in the room.

“What is it?” Alastair asked irritably.

The shadow that was cast across the floor did not move further into the room. “It is almost dawn, his session should have end-“

“Cancel all of my appointments. Me and Dean are just starting to get somewhere.”

“Yes, sir.”

The glimmer of hope became engulfed in black. Chinking metal and wheels rolling through liquid, likely Dean’s own brand, suffocated Dean’s senses.

It’s going to be a long day.

 

Charlie and Ash decided to bunk the start of ‘Hacker 101’ to check up on Dean.

“Why is it that every time we get here, his door is open?” Charlie sighed, anxiety beginning to creep into her chest.

“I know, it’s like young Skywalker wants to get his ass beat.” Ash replied, receiving a dirty glare from Charlie.

“Dean? Dean it’s Charlie and Dr. Badass, we’re coming in.”

Silence met them. Entering his room didn’t help diffuse the situation. Dean’s room was largely the same as it had been before except 2 things were dreadfully wrong: Dean was missing and the Colt was on the floor.

“What’s the protocol here Char, shall we get Anna?”

“No, you know how religious she is about going to church on Sunday. See what I did there, religious and...” Charlie stopped because of the incredulous look she was getting from Ash, “sorry, I mumble when I’m nervous.”

He smiled weakly, “Dean must have been dragged away, there is no way in HELL that Dean would leave the Colt lying there on the floor.”

“You’re right, even yesterday when he freaking went mental, his hand graced over it to make sure it didn’t fall.” Ash nodded in silent conformation. “Right, so what should we do?”  
  
Grabbing her hand and pulling her out the room Ash explained their next move. “First, we shut the door, Dean would flip shit if Raph or anyone got to his guitar,” That was the easy and ticked off task as they continued down the corridor, “Then we check the security cameras. We need to confirm where Dean is, I mean I have no idea where else he would go but still...”

“I wish Gabe or Kali or Cas were here. I am so not cut out for this soldier crap.” Charlie grumbled, worry about her friend conflicting with her fictional courage.

“That is why we are hitting the computers,” he beamed, false bravado, “And we are going to check out Dean’s god damn torture file to find out why he didn’t even look at us yesterday.”

Turning into their room, she bumped shoulders with Ash, “Man I’m glad I’ve got you.”

 

He was becoming accustomed to seeing pieces of his past. How fucked up is that? Each time, his eyes would flicker into focus; some new and painful memory would take over his body. It was slowly draining him away. Alastair would sit in his chair, fiddling with the weapons, or be standing close enough that Dean could smell his tainted breath but the constant was the question.

“What is your last name?”

His Dad was there too. Contemplatively quiet, he would circle and smirk at Dean. Never giving the wounds a chance to heal, not eating or sleeping or drinking, a normal child would have died a week ago. The cruel price of survival. The day waned on. It was impossible to know how much time had elapsed, but it seemed that Alastair had the stamina of an ox.

 

Having watched the CCTV footage of the corridors (which suspiciously revealed nothing) the computer genius' moved onto the files. Dr Badass continued to try to find the loop in the camera feed while Charlie vigourously poured through hundreds of files.

"This is worse than The Goblet of Fire and Iron Man 2 put together, and we are not going into either right now." Facing Ash, Charlie gulped. 

"What you found?" 

"Dean has been with Alastair for a month right? He hasn't written anything on here except a list of weapons and techniques that don't work."

"Damn." Ash smoothed his hand over his mullet. 

"It gets worse. According to this, the chemistry department have developed a new type of injection." Her eyes continued to scan across the page. "Listed here as Bela Talbot, head of department," clicking the link she read on, "it is a hallucinogen that causes the victim to relive their memories as if it is happening in the present. They may or may not be conscious of it being a present or past memory."

"Whatever it is that Dean is keeping from us, he must have seen it again." 

She looked to the heavens.  _Please, either bring us help or help him._

Finally, he made to step out. However, just before leaving he injected Dean once more, a higher dose than the two previous put together. He left Dean to a fleeting moment of peace.

That’s when the smoke rose around him. _No_. _Anything but this._

The heat roared. At once his father’s body was clinched by the dancing orange and red. Black smoke bellowed in volumes, completely blanketing out the oxygen in the room. Stepping back, he shielded his eyes from the stinging of the flames.

Sam was still clinging to their Mom for dear life. But if they stayed, they would be gripping onto their deaths.

Desperately, he tried to rip his brother from the corpse of their Mom. He could hear himself and his brother crying. Mingled screams and tangled limbs. The flames licked closer. Dean had to get them out.

The memory circled. Over and over the pangs of loss and love and fear resonated through him. It was emotionally crippling him. Hyperventilating and trying to grab his brother. Now what? The flames have trapped him. Sammy is alone. His young face looked up to Dean’s tears falling over his wide hazel eyes.

“Make it stop.” Dean trembled. He couldn’t keep seeing Sam look at him like that. Not as he was holding Mary’s body. Not with his father already reduced to embers. How long Alastair had been there Dean did not know when Alastair had come back in, what he did know is that his voice was hoarse from screaming, his body pulsated with stinging; he physically could not do this anymore.   

“Tell me your name.”

“Winchester, my name is Dean Winchester.”


	7. Lessons Learnt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Gabriels POV, what we've all been waiting for right? :)  
> Like I said in my last chapter, I'm off school for Christmas. Being the hermit that I am this literally means Supernatural boxset + food+ laptop + occasional toilet break - time I have to spend with my family= lots more chapters for this fic and some for that stupid other story that has more hits than this... I'M NOT PISSED. @v@  
> Joking...  
> Cattivo means 'naughty' in Italian.  
> The song 'Dean' is writing is Johnny Cash - Hurt. It's a beautiful song- sad yes- but I recommend you check it out.  
> TRIGGER WARNING: TORTURE, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND PEOPLE BEING MEAN.  
> Thanks for reading, unbetaed so yeah. Sorry for mistakes and or poor writing. Ha!  
> Feedback if you wanna :)

Alastair stepped back.

“Well now, that is a surprise.” Of course, Alastair had known the boy’s real name the whole time, but the purpose of this exercise is to test the endurance of the soon to be agents.

“You lasted 30 days. Not bad, but nothing compared to your Daddy...”

Dean’s bleary eyes shot up then. “W... What?”

“100 days I had your Daddy down here.” He chuckled slightly at the memory, “But he was adamant not to give in. Eventually, I was told to stop as he had _other_ engagements.”

Staring at Dean, Alastair debated something silently in his head. The man is a psychopath, the best advice he can receive was from himself; it’s all fuelled by the tangled web of his brain.

“Come with me.” The restraints fell down. Dean fell into a ball on the ground. In frustration, Alastair held him by the neck and led him out of the room. Another door was open. Waiting, inviting. Partially chocking from the hand around his neck, a horrified scream fell from Dean’s lips at the sight before him.

A middle aged woman, possibly in a police uniform, was hanging from the rack like an animal in the slaughter house. Her eyes darted quickly between Dean and Alastair, blood splattered across her wilting frame and gag stuffed in her mouth.

“Well hello, Amelia,” Alastair drawled, “Are we ready to talk yet?” He stepped closer, this Amelia shaking her head.

“This here is Amelia, Dean, don’t be shy come and say hello. Amelia decided to help one of our children. Police involvement, tut tut Ame.” Slowly dragging his filthy hand past her cheek, she threw her head to the side in a pointless attempt to avoid him. “Yes, you never did like me very much. That’s why I have Dean here, to come play.”

Frozen in place, Dean made to run. The door was shut and he banged at it brutally till his hands bled. Alastair came over and pulled him by the shoulder. Shoving him forward, forcing a knife into his hand, Dean stumbled into Amelia slicing her flesh shallow on her stomach. A muffled scream came out, and Dean dropped to the floor, wide eyed.

 _What the fuck?_ A jolt of electricity went through him. Finally, after all the pain inflicted on him, he felt empowered at having the control over the other person. _I am so fucked up, I should..._

“That was pathetic Dean, even if I do say so myself. In class you always showed finesse; yet in practise you lack conviction in your actions, you need more... Oomph.” Dean was shaking from crying on the floor. The knife still pressed firmly into his hand. “Stand up. Teach her Dean, she has to learn.”

“No.”

The familiar tray of weapons skittered across the room. Grabbing the short hairs on Dean’s head, Alastair ripped his head back and pulled him to his feet. Mercilessly, he seized Dean’s wrist, the hand holding the knife, and pushed the trembling blade into the flesh of the woman. He repeated the motion until he let go and Dean was going rabid on his own.

When the woman’s body turned limp, red eyes with tears bleeding down her face, she made the motion to Alastair that she wanted to talk. Dean dropped the knife, looking at his own hand; he turned away vomiting all over the ruby stained concrete.  

“Are you going to talk now?” Rasping, Alastair leered at the woman. She nodded and he ripped the gag from her mouth. Screams echoed through the room. A loud slap reduced it to whimpers.

“I told one person... What the child had told me... My, supervisor.” She was wheezing around her words. Her eyes met Dean’s; he was still crying and whispering “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Nodding shakily, her eyes closed painfully shut.

“Thank you, officer.” Without batting an eye, he sliced the blade across her throat. Her body shuddered a bit, as the last of her life drained away. Easy smile creeping over his blood covered face, he turned back towards Dean.

“Dean.” The boy did not move. His head was bent, eyes hypnotised by the floor, like it was the only thing he had left now. “Dean look at me.” When he continued to transfix his glare to the pooling blood, Alastair brought the tip of his favourite knife to his throat, coaxing his head up. “Go back to your room, shower and get a change of clothes. Come straight back. If you are not back within an hour, I will come for you myself. We have work to do.”

Dean’s eyes were glossed over. His head twitched a nod.

Faltering as he walked, Dean entered his room. Entranced, he stepped out of his clothes and into the shower. The accusing bloody clothes lay bundled on the floor; they taunted him from the icy blast of water. But Dean didn’t care. He was so numb from the events, who the hell gives a damn what happens now? If he died, no one would miss him. More to the point, after what he had just done, he deserved to die. He couldn’t even say he had one friend to fall back on because Cas is gone. Sammy hated him. And who could blame them? He never deserved their friendship in the first place. Dean let everyone down.

Dad.

Mom.

Sam.

Cas.

The Garrison.

Standing beneath the painful cold spray, the water hit him like pellets on the surface of his skin. One thought ran through his mind: _can we even kill ourselves in these hyped up bodies?_ He hung his head.

The red swirled down the drain. Such a dark red.

 

I can’t believe it, me and Kali are back and no welcome home party or anything! Honestly, sometimes it’s like my friends, and more importantly little siblings, hate me. We have been in our room for _hours_ , Kali damn insisting to unpack before we go and save them from sobbing.

“Kali, come on babe, I’m bored. Let’s just go to the pit and I _promise_ to help out later.” I snuggled up behind her trying to pry her away from her bag. She hummed slightly... And then elbowed me in the ribs.

“Gabriel Cattivo Milton, if you do not sit down and wait _or_ help me now, God help me I am withholding candy for a week.” _Full name and candy threats, she means business._

“Woman! You wouldn’t dare.” I huffed, eying her wearily before turning to my own bag and promptly dumping the contents in my drawer. “Now can we go?”

“Gabriel, go see if they are there, I can’t deal with you right now.” She rolled her eyes and thrust the candy bar from her bag in my direction. Grinning I snatched the bar and kissed her cheek.

“Love you!” I shouted as I darted out of our room.

Casually walking down the corridor, I figured I’d check good old Deano’s room first. It wasn’t late par ce but Dean spends A LOT of time in that dump. Reaching his door, I went to knock. That’s when I heard the noise from inside. I’m no prude, but this was a song I had never heard him play. I pressed my ear to the metal. He sounded as though he was talking to someone, or himself, debating whether or not that chord worked. _Holy shit!_ He’s writing a song and I am totally getting a leak!

“I hurt myself today   
To see if I still feel.”

Parts of the guitar chords were lost through the door, but I heard the lyrics loud and clear; what I heard wasn’t comforting. I knew Cas had been sent out on a job, first thing Mikey sneered at me when I got back. Focussing on the song, I listened harder to Dean singing.  
“I focus on the pain   
The only thing that's real   
The needle tears a hole  
The old familiar sting.”

There was several moments of silence and I held my breath. _Maybe he heard me outside?_  Then he began again, muttering certain words twice, testing the pitch on his voice.

“Try to kill it all away   
But I remember everything...  
  
What have I become?   
My sweetest friend   
Everyone I know goes away   
In the end.”  
 

That was it. I had heard enough. Knocking loudly on the door, Dean called back,

 “It’s open asshat.”

Gabriel walked in purposefully, scowling at Dean and taking his place on the bed beside the other boy. Trying not to look, Dean was unperturbed and scribbled some more in his book, his eyes searched for an explanation to Dean’s behaviour. The bathroom door was open. Gabriel felt his stomach churn at the sloppy pile of clothes, black deepened by the red puddle around it.   

“Heard Cas is on a job.”

Distantly, Dean carried on his song, only a grunt acknowledging what Gabe had said. “And you could,” He sighed, “You have your massive dick brothers to thank for that... have it all. And you could have it all.”

“Dean look at me.” The guitar stopped playing, but auburn did not meet emerald. Hand reaching out to Dean’s shoulder, Gabe saw him flinch. “Dean what happened to you?”

An empty laugh came out, “I broke. And...”

Fairly certain he wasn’t going to like the answer, Gabriel asked anyway. “And?”

 “Alastair has me torturing people, and I’m afraid...”

He grimaced, _This is worse than I thought._ “Of what?”

At this moment, Dean remained perfectly still but his eyes rose up. “Of him.”

“Well you’d be beyond fucked up if you weren’t Dean. I’m actually kind of relieved.”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid that I’m becoming like him...” Dean’s broken gaze profusely refused to meet Gabe as a lonely tear dribbled down his cheek, his voice breaking and a harsh laugh fading out.

“ _Dean_.” It was a pained sound, the same let down tone his father gave him only days before. Head still hanging, his tear stained eyes shot up again to meet the concerned hazel eyes of his friend; a broken smile trapping his lips.

“And I’m afraid that I’m starting to like it.”

 _That was unexpected._ He was unable to move. The admission shocked the older teen to the core, and Gabriel was not easily messed with. 

The silence stayed. It cloaked them and in that time, minds wondered and tears were spilt. Door swinging violently open, the blanket of quiet was ripped away.

“Surprise, it’s your friendly neighbourhood animal collector. Come on grasshopper.” Alastair stood in the hallway, holding the door open with his foot motioning to Dean impatiently. In the dull yellow light, Dean caught the glare of the knife.

The fight was gone. Vacantly, Dean laid the guitar and notepad down. He turned to Gabriel who had placed a warning, protective hand on his arm.

“If I, you know,” Dean made a strangled sound and pretended to choke himself before whispering, “pass over,” head motioning to Alastair, “Give my stuff to Cas... You know, for the Garrison.” He coughed awkwardly. It was the most human motion he had done in a long time.

“Dean, don’t go with him.”

Alastair stepped forward assassin fast, the blades edge threatening the soft skin of Gabriel’s throat.

“I’ll tell your boyfriend sorry for the fight then.” Gabriel quirked a smile and took his leave.

 

 

Four days past.

 “You know,” he spoke polishing the crimson discolouration from the knife and holding it up to the light to check the blunt edge, “You really musta pissed him off for him to bring a gun in here.”

The man stepped forward.

“I wonder if he’s over you trying to escape...”

Echoing, the gun shot ricocheted in the stifling room, followed by a haunted scream.

Dean shrugged. “I guess not.”

 

Castiel glowered at Naomi.

“Ma’am I am aware that you have repaired Meg with... Steve. You know that I am not going to click with anyone else-“  
“Castiel. You need to learn to speak when spoken too. That boy has corrupted you, but not beyond repair.” She grinned at him, false and fractious. “You will remain in training; however, we are not yet willing for you to go on any more jobs. Keep your eye on the news on the Middle East and Africa. Dismissed.”

Chewing his bottom lip, Castiel hesitated. Angrily, he left her office and made his way back to his room. _At least I don’t have to move rooms._ The stairs to his dorm weren’t crowded, so when Cas looked up, he instantly saw Gabriel making his way down. In a split second, the younger Milton raced down the steps and round the corner into a shaded alcove.

“I leave you guys for a few weeks and the whole place goes to pot!” Gabriel shouted as strode over to where Cas was lurking.

 Sighing, Cas stepped out from the niche. “What are you talking about Gabriel?”

“Cas, baby bro, they tried to retune you. Come here smoochy poos,” he pulled Cas into a compressing hug, sarcastically feigning disinterest in his brother and his friend, “Your little lover boy. He’s become Alastair’s favourite play thing. He’s... Has done some pretty fucked up shit bro.” Gabriel had yet to let go. Bracing his hands against his brother’s chest, Cas pushed him back.

“I am still not sure what you are referring to brother.”

Squinting at Cas, he threw his hands in the air, “Oh... That is IT. Mike and Luci are getting the prank of the frigging century for ruining my little brother.” Erratically pacing now, Gabe continued, “I could trick them with an alligator in one of their bathrooms, ooh then kidnap one of them and force them to slow dance with Balthazar dressed as an alien! Or I could dress up as a cannibal wielding a chainsaw and-“

“Brother!” Cas’ hand was on Gabriel’s chest, stopping his increasing pace, “What has happened to Dean.”

Rolling his eyes Gabriel replied, “He joined a nunnery, turns out ‘lying with another man as one lies with a woman is an abomination’ sorry Cas, who knew eh?”

Eyebrows knitted, Cas stood perplexed, trying to work out what his brother had said. “Why would Dean join a nunnery? We do not have any establishments to facilitate that here.”

“You really are clueless sometimes bro, I often wonder how we are related. He broke Cas. According to Anna, who I just saw... Also we need to check that Garth guy out; he doesn’t have my seal of approval yet.”

It was Cas’ turn to roll his eyes, a focused and deliberate movement, “I do not understand what that has to do with us, Gabriel.”

“He broke two days after you left Cas. That had him on all kinds of shit. And I loathe Li’l Stumpy at times, but even I wouldn’t put him on that stuff Azazel made.”

Cas made to move past Gabriel.

“I need to go and see Dean, do you know why they did what they did Gabriel?”

“Not but I have a pretty good idea that it starts with you and ends with massivemancrushohshitIclickedwithDeanandwe’renotallowedtodothatwithboys.”

Glaring at Gabriel, he went to go up the stairs.

“You won’t find him in his room.”

Cas stopped.

“Why not?”

“He broke Cas. But Dean is Alastair’s new ‘grasshopper’.” Coming back down the stairs he tilted his head in confusion. Gabriel threw his arms up in defence of the poor choice in nickname. “His words not mine.”

“So what does Alastair want with him?”

“Dean told me that he is torturing people. He’s been at it for four days bro. I haven’t seen him since. Hell, even that old coot Singer is worried about him.”

“I will raise him from perdition.” Defiantly, the gravel and assurance in his voice made Gabriel’s eyebrows rise to meet his hairline. Castiel began to run in the opposite direction to the dorms.

“Where are you going Cas?”

“To tell Naomi where to ‘shove it’.” Even from a distance Gabriel could see the quote marks on those words. He eye rolled again.

“Fine, but don’t let your divorce blow back on the kids.”

“I will keep you out of it, don’t worry brother.”

 

 

His shift was over for the day. Slowly making his way to the makeshift room Alastair had provided, he felt a hand clasp his bare bicep. The grip made his stomach drop.

“We need to talk.”

Alastair pulled Dean into his old torture chamber and strapped him in. Long ago, or maybe in the grand scheme of things it was hours ago, Dean had learnt not to go against Alastair. There were shadows that come at the first sign of trouble; the vile man makes Dean watch and inflict more damage than necessary when he fights back.

 “I carved you into a new animal Dean. You cannot hide from me forever.”

Confusion and a seeping sense of dread flooded through Dean. Nervously, he licked his lips. _What could I possibly have let slip?_

Deep in his thoughts, he didn’t realise that a bat was hurtling towards him. He did not have time to brace for the impact. When the metal connected with his ribs, it knocked the air completely out of his lungs. Gasping for an insatiable breath, he coughed out, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Grimy fingers gripped his chin. The other hand held a needle. Dean looked anywhere but Alastair and the fluid in the needle that contained memories he would much rather suppress.

“Don’t play stupid. I can see it in your posture, the way you zone out sometimes. I have accounts that you never mention your previous life. And your eyes,” he squinted into them, “they are shifty.” He jeered, “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”

He felt the liquid enter his body and shuddered. The lightning zapped freezing cramps through his bloodstream. Alastair questioned him between weapons trials and memories rematerializing.

Torturer by day, tortured by night. _Son of a bitch._

Meanwhile, Cas was in a verbal war with Metatron, desperately trying to convince him to let Dean out of torture duty. After all, Dean was destined for a specialist squad in the Marines, on the frontline, they could not afford to keep him here as a Manipulations expert. It came down to the question of wills. What would give out first, Dean’s mental state or Metatron’s word of God.

Turns out it was neither... Alastair is not as patient as he looks.

 “YOU’RE STILL HIDING SOMETHING DEAN _WINCHESTER_. TELL ME.” Dean’s head lolled on his shoulders. Faintly, blood slipped down his mottled face, he twitched his chin up, “Nothin’ t’ tell.” Dean croaked out, his head plunging down as his body fought the hammering of muscle, bone and tissue that ached and pulsed in a strange sensation. Inside his head, the walls were down and the wires jumbled with each new victim, new memory, new technique. He was suffering all over.

_This is for Sammy. I won’t let him down again; I’d rather die._

“TELL ME.”

There was a bucket now, filled with discarded syringes and there was a tray, 10 readymade memory rebuilders waiting to be unleashed.

In a fit of rage, Alastair took as many syringes as he could fit in his hand from the tray. Eyes bulging from their sockets, his breath was manic and heavy. One by one, he stabbed the needles head into Dean’s neck.

1... 2...

Dean shouted out in pain and surprise. The needle marks went purple and bled on the surface.

3... 4... 5...

The boy’s eyes rolled back in his sockets. His speech was slurred and incoherent.

6... 7...

The body twitched against the straps. The movement of the boy's chest became slow and uneven.

 

 

Sammy is 2 months old. Mom is stressing, because yeah, babies are a handful, but she’s happy and to take her mind off the incessant crying of my brother she has baked pie. I can hear her from here, humming the tune to a Beatles song I’m going to learn; Dad’s out at work, he might be getting a raise. So, I lay Dad’s guitar down on my bed.

He was just starting to teach me the chords. Smiling, I reminisce the memory of when Dad first let me hold the Colt.

“You break her boy and I’ll break you.”

Never have I been so sure of his words. But he trusts me, at least enough that the only real father-son bonding we do outside of him teaching me to fight is the soft strums and difficult chords that allow me to play for Mom and comfort myself when things get too much.

Mom has been tense about Sammy, saying he cries way more than I did. I smile at her and say “that’s ‘cos I’m the good looking Winchester.” Still stumbling over my words, she ruffles my hair in the way that’s just _Mom_ and replies gently, “My little angel, that doesn’t even make sense.”

The sweet smell of apple pie drifts up the stairway as I move down the hall to go into Sam’s room and make sure he’s ok. It has baby blue walls and his cot is pushed to the far side. Like the little runt he is, he is moose squealing, a high pitched sound broken by sobs that makes my ears hurt. Walking closer to his cot, I shake my head as his chubby face turns towards me. It’s all wrinkles and pale skin, but his wide hazel eyes open a bit wider to seeing me.

I am not that tall, so I lower the barrier of the cot, ignoring the sniffles of my brother and reach in to brush my thumb over his tears.

“Hey little man.” I chuckle softly, chunky (but tiny) fingers grabbing up to investigate the intrusion to his bed. Latched onto my finger, he sticks it into his mouth because babies do not feel holding things in their hand is investigative enough; he is still crying his eyes out.

I brush his short brown hair that has just started to tuft up on his head with my free hand. My brother is still bawling... I need to do something. Gently taking my drooled over fingers from his mouth, I pick him up. I carry Sam out of his room and back down the hall. Wails and reaching arms flail about as he protests, but I can tell from the lowered volume of tears, that he has finally got some attention and is happier about it.

Once in my room, I lower myself to the floor, cradling Sammy in my arms. Bracing him on one arm, I lean with the other to reach my iPod. It’s a classic, old and worn from years of use (and ok, I may have dropped it a few times) and fiddle with the earphones. I begin to rock Sam in my arms, his cries slowing down, and snot flowing like a river from his little nose. Wiping it away with my sleeve, Mom will wash this later _twice_ I hope, I then start to scroll through my song list. Kansas ‘Carry on My Wayward Son’ darts up the screen and I instantly scroll back. Lowering the volume, I tentatively push the buds of the ear phones into Sammy’s ears.

Holding my breath, I hit the play button.

At first Sam sobs louder. After a few seconds, his breathing evens out. The howls become snivels and he blinks docilely. He reaches up, holding onto my neck and I keep him there. His head is so small, leaning against my chest like it’s a pillow.

“Like some classic rock, huh Sammy?” Trying to stifle a yawn, I lean my head back against the wall. Sam’s breaths have become soft and quiet. His eyelids flickered shut over the hazel that usually stare back. I smile. Because my little brother is falling asleep to a rock band and hell yeah, I want a medal for being the coolest brother ever. Just as my eyes fall shut, I whisper a promise to Sammy and cuddle him closer to my chest.

“As long as I am around, nothing bad is ever going to happen to you.”

Consciousness slipping away into hopeful sleep, I let myself be swept away in deep blue currents; I couldn’t help but think it was like my own personal Heaven.


	8. Broken Crown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter Woooo! I'm actually getting a chapter up like I said!  
> Ok, so we are looking at some feelsy shit. I really hate John so, sorry not sorry, for how he is depicted here. Passenger Let Her (Him because Cas ois definitely a dude ladies and gentlemen) Go and the song is Mumford and Sons Broken Crown which I am actually forever in love with.  
> I have used some lines from actual canon come the endish, so I don't exactly own that.  
> Have fun people, starting the next chapter tonight :3  
> I'm kind of conflicted with my depictions of Charlie, Ash, Anna and Garth so feed back there would be really helpful if you have the time! 
> 
> Peace Out bitches -xo

3 days. 72 hours. 4,320 minutes and counting.

Cas did not leave Dean’s bedside. He hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten... Worst of all, he remembered the way their last conversation had gone. Closing his eyes, the image of Dean’s bright green eyes, glistening with tears and silent desperation, stared back at him; what wouldn’t Cas give for Dean to just open his eyes again. Even if all he finds there is hate and judgement. The unease he felt in his stomach had more to do with Dean than frankly he’d like to admit.

His own words hit him out of nowhere.

_No Dean. I learnt something while I was away, I serve my orders, I do not serve my friends and I definitely don’t serve you._

When his eyes opened he found his hand in Dean’s. Tears began to well up at the corners of his eyes. Cas found himself checking Dean’s breathing more and more often. His wounds were no longer healing, the coma he was in absorbing all of his energy.

He leant over his friend’s body. Carefully, with the hand not in Dean’s own, he brushed over the features of his face: swollen and bruised. His fingertips ghosted over the blotted purple marks on his neck and ran down his bare chest, avoiding the fresh contusions and seeking out the older, permanent, scars.

There was sure to be a story behind each one.

Something low in his gut twisted at the thought that someone, anyone, would hurt a boy less than 6 years old; that Dean took it. Just like he takes and accepts everything else that is thrown at him. Noticing a hitch in Dean’s breathing, he hovered over his left peck, waiting for the irregular rise and fall of his chest. His eye caught sight of something black. Intrigued, he peered closer. There on the pale skin, covering an old scar, he followed the pattern of the inked star surrounded by flames.  _I have never noticed that before._ Cas could feel the harder skin of the scar and traced it. It spelt out Vilis. Racking his brain, a translation hit him. That is ever so cruel. Vilis translated to 'worthless' in Latin. Slowly, he took his hand away. 

 

 

Belatedly, Cas realised that he must have fallen asleep.

Cas froze. _So I’ve actually gone crazy._ He was standing in an ashen room. Literally, every surface of the room he was in was covered in ash and dust. It was almost as if someone had lit a match and the room had gone up in flames. Cautiously, he followed sounds coming from the kitchen. There was a woman. She was pale and grey; like someone had dragged her from a ‘60’s film. Cas moved closer. The woman was cooking something in the oven; he could smell the sweetness from where he was watching. But it was cold, not heat, that radiated from her.

Unexpectedly, she stopped humming. “He’s upstairs.” Her smile was warm, but shadowed by the pasty colour of her skin and grey of her hair. _Who?_ Eyes flickering to the stair case, which looked decayed and burnt, he shrugged at her. _This is very concerning. I should not go so long without sleep in future._

Taking the first stair, he heard the whole case creak. Cas gulped. For a dream this felt disconcertingly real. There was no banister, just charred wooden slats so Castiel decided after the second step to just run for it. Feet meeting the landing, the stairway behind him crumbled into dust. Looking left and right, the corridor stretched out either side of him.

Instinct told him to go left. He tried the first door. Everything was discoloured in muted greyscale. From inside the room, he heard a gruff man shouting. As he entered, he saw the body that accompanied that voice. A young man, dark hair and fairly tall; he was talking to nothing... Or so Cas thought. Well, he _was_ talking to nothing. But the nothing was talking back.

“You promised! You promised he would never have to fight.” _That sounds an awful lot like Dean when I first met him._

The man grabbed the nothing and pulled his arm back.

“It’s not like that _boy_. He has to be able to defend himself!”

“Why? Why would he ever need to do that? I go to the ring with you, not him. I fig-“

“In case. In case you are not there to defend him. He needs to know.” The voice went from angry to defeated. “But he will never be on the inside of the ring.”

His hand unclenched. The voice that replied became small again. “Good, ok good.”

Cas backed away. Closing the door behind him he stood outside dumbstruck. _What the fuck did I just see?_ This was really getting out of hand. If this was a dream, it was the most vivid and personal (to someone) dream he’d ever had. It was almost like memories.

He tried the next door. It was almost the same thing. There were people, grey and gloomy as ever, and a voice that the people were talking too. After 3 more doors left, Castiel changed his tact and jogged all the way to the right. Door after door, he found voices. They began to plague him. Then something changed.

The next door he came across felt different. It was in colour. _In the name of... I have never been so happy to see the colour brown._ Huffing a deep breath out, he closed his eyes and turned the handle.

“I wondered when you were going to get here.” There was the voice. Deep and comforting.

“Dean?” Cas couldn’t stop himself. He burst into hysterical laughter.

“Hey Cas, I know this isn’t what we normally get up to, but with you here it just feels right you know?”

He had made his way into the room and was perched on the edge of the bed, doubled over in laughter. The door he had entered through was now closed. Once he had slightly composed himself, he fully took in his surroundings. He was in a boy’s bedroom, _Dean’s bedroom_ , it was modestly decorated and tidy to an almost military precision. His gaze ended on Dean himself, slumped against his wall, a bundle of something with a clump of light brown hair on top held against his chest.

“Cas, this is Sammy. I don’t think you’ve met.”

“Dean... Where are we?” Cas squinted at the boy, why would he dream about Dean and his brother? Who Dean has mentioned a grand total of twice.

“My room dummy.” Dean grinned at him then looked fondly at the gurgling bundle attached to his neck. “Yeah, I know Sammy, Cas can be a bit slow sometimes.”

“Dean... What is going on...? How am I here?” Calmly, Cas moved from the bed to sit beside Dean.

“Well Cas, I’m glad you asked. Because I haven’t a fucking clue. Not that I’m complaining, my little slice of Heaven wouldn’t be complete without my best friend.”

“Dean... You are in a coma. Wherever we are, this isn’t real.”

Dean was frowning at him then. “No Cas, this _is_ real. I remember this, it was 1983. This is my memory Cas. And I mean, I haven’t seen you in a while, but you’re here too. And we’re talking... It _has_ to be real.” He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Cas.

“I fell asleep Dean. I fell asleep and woke up in a burnt down living room. Then I heard humming from the kitchen and fucking hell, Dean the whole place was like black and white. No colour. This woman said ‘he’s upstairs’ so I came up here and found an endless hallway. I’ve been searching doors for ages and some of the things I’ve seen...”

His face fell. “You looked in the doors?”

“Dean, please you have to believe me. We can talk about this when you wake up.”

“I’m not asleep Cas! I’m 98% sure this is Heaven and I’m dead.”

“Don’t say that please, Dean. Please... I need you to come back.”

Silence stretched between them. “Maybe I don wanna come back.” He mumbled, brushing his cheek against Sam’s head.

For a moment, Cas was endeared by the gentleness of the motion. Castiel had watched Dean fight, seen his scars and now heard him angry. So far, he found that the most beautiful side to Dean he had seen was the relationship between him and his brother. It made him wonder why Dean didn’t speak about him more.

“You don’t mean that. What about the Garrison? The Colt? I can’t let you stay here.” _Because I need you._ The words didn’t come out, but Cas felt them all over. It concerned him greatly. They had gotten into his head for clicking with Dean and now he almost admitted these feelings.

“Dean honey, the pie is ready.”

“Coming Mom.”

The boys stared at each other for a long time. The lush green took Cas back to the forest he used to play in, when Gabe would take him out of the house. It held him in the orchard, where Lucifer had handed him a fresh green apple. _What is going on?_

“Dean...”

“Just go Cas, I’m... I’m better off here. And if I really am in a coma, that’s the least I deserve. The Colt’s yours. Take good care of her.” Dean started to get up when Cas caught his arm.

“I will watch over you until I or you die. We can sort this out.”

The room started to go into static. Sam was crying. The colour of the room drained away. From the corner, black faded in.

“Cas?”

“Don’t worry Dean, I’ve got you.”

He awoke, head lying in the space between Dean’s hip and forearm and hand firmly clasped in Dean’s own. 

Instantly, Cas snapped up, moving from the chair so that he was leaning close to Dean’s face. A lone tear escaped as he blinked, dribbling down his cheek and landing in a small splash on Dean’s motionless face; Cas waited there, praying to God if he’s out there to bring him back.

“It’s not blame that falls on you, Dean, it's fate. You’re our only hope. Please, wake up.” Finally confessing his deepest thoughts, Castiel rested his forehead against Dean’s. “Please.” He whispered.

“Cas...”

Eyelids flickering, green met blue.

“Hey, I told you I’d watch over you.” Cas sniffed, smiling at Dean and leaning away. Coughing, Dean’s hand squeezed Cas’ before his breath returned to short and strained movements, his eyes scrunching together as he accustomed to the pain.

“I’m going to go tell the rest of the Garrison you are ok. They have all been very concerned. Even Gabe.” Cas chuckled, remembering the honestly subtle fear Gabriel had revealed in their last conversation.

Reluctantly, he pried his hand from Dean’s and left his room, glancing back to the body showing slightly more signs of life than before.

 

 

There were many rooms to reach so he opted for knocking on their doors and moving on.

“Charlie, Ash... Dr. Badass, Dean’s awake.” He called and moved on to Anna and Garth’s room. It was along this stretch of corridor he was intercepted and carried away by his brothers once again.

“Castiel, we haven’t seen you in days.” Lucifer drawled, tugging at his arm.

“Not something to do with Dean Rodgers is it Cassie?” Michael cooed from his other arm.

“Let me go!” Cas struggled even though he knew resistance was futile. _Huh, I just made a pop culture reference._ _Dean would have been proud._ Stuck in his thoughts, he only realised that they had reached Naomi’s office once he was thrust into the chair.

“Castiel. I am disappointed. First we spare your life. Then Metatron has the courtesy to save Rodgers from torture duty. Finally, we allow that disruptive child to live. And this is how you repay us? By going against your orders _again_? I’m afraid we have reached an ultimatum.”

Refusing to meet her gaze, Cas stayed silent. _And yet, I did all of it for Dean._

“Either you stop with this pathetic obsession and be a good soldier of God or we will make you kill Dean Rodgers yourself.”

He looked up then, scowling at the cruel witch that hid inside the woman. “He cannot be killed.”

“Castiel, you are enhanced children not invincible super humans.” She laughed dryly, “That would be highly impractical when it comes to defects.”

“I will not harm Dean.” Continuing to stare her down, he fidgeted in his seat.

“Then you had better conform to the latter.”

It wasn’t a question. It was conformation that Castiel would no longer show any sign of sympathy towards Dean. His heart ached. Almost as if his soul had come to terms with these _feelings_ , that is that what he felt towards Dean was more than friendship, and that he had clicked, everything was crumbling down again. In resigned silence, he nodded; left the office heading in the general direction of the Arena. 

 

 

“Captain?” Charlie’s voice was soft and guarded as she entered Dean’s room.

“Hey Char, sorry about...” Eyes closed, he lifted his bandaged arm into the air and generally flicked his wrist, letting it fall heavily onto the bed. “Everything.” He conceded with a sigh.

“Don’t mention it,” Ash beamed, striding over to Dean’s bed. Cracking open an eye, Dean looked over them both.

“You guys look like Hell.”

“Take a look in the mirror, hot shot, you’re not looking so good yourself.” Ash joked.

“You look like you’ve been through Hell.” Charlie muttered.

“So the whole Garrison coming down to gape at me,” Dean shifted on the bed, “My ass feels like it fell off and has been glued back on,” moaning, he practically forgot Charlie and Ash were there, “or am I just granted the pleasure of you two?”

“Well, Cas called on us. We dropped a text to Anna and Garth, Gabe and Kali, but you know, it is kind of late.” Through a yawn Charlie explained to Dean how long he had been out, 3 days, that Cas and Meg had been split (they hadn’t clicked and Meg had moved onto ‘Steve’ anyway) and how Gabe was planning to get back at Lucifer and Michael.

Somewhere in the account, Gabe and Kali had joined the group and were adding to the conversation, mainly Gabe, to tell everyone his pranking plans and claim to fame at Christo’s.

“You should have seen old Zac’s face when he found all those hookers in his office. Metatron blew his shit!” Gabriel smirked, the whole experience bringing hope to the dismal place.

Laughing, Dean clutched his chest in pain and groaned. “Stop making me laugh, it hurts like a bitch.”

The older boy grinned and shrugged. “Can’t help it if I’m hilarious.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Worried, Dean sighed a shaky breath. He really wasn’t any good at the whole ‘talk about your feelings thing’.  “Guys, I need your help... With Cas.” He mumbled the last bit because he did not need endless chiding from Charlie, maybe Kali, probably Ash and definitely Gabe.

“Ooh, Deano’s plotting a plan to woo my baby bro.”

Kali poked Gabe’s ribs causing him to gasp and for the lolly to drop from his mouth onto Ash.

“Gross dude, I better not catch anything from this.” Flicking it from his shoulder he made a disgusted face at Gabe.

“What do you need?” Charlie asked, choosing to ignore the drama.

“I need... I need you to get Cas to go down to the pit... Alone.” Uneasily, Dean answered, rubbing a hand over his surely blushing face.

“Aww how romantic! Gabe you never do anything like that for me.” She pouted at him.

Completely dismissing Kali’s protest, he gave Dean a mischievous smile, “When do you want him?”

 

 

Cas was standing in the middle of the pit, his stupid tan trench coat twirling around with him as he searched the area in confusion.

“Cas.”

His head immediately whipped round, tilted to the right, his eyebrows pinched in the middle.

“Dean, what are you-“

Cut off by the sound of the guitar strings being plucked, Cas’ mouth clicked shut. Slowly, Dean stepped closer, before stopping as he came to the words of the song.

“Well you only need the light when it's burning low,  
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow,  
Only know you love him when you let him go.  
  
Only know you've been high when you're feeling low,  
Only hate the road when you’re missin' home,  
Only know you love him when you let him go.  
And I let you go.”

Holding Cas sapphire blue eyes, Dean hoped that he could convey everything he needed to say to Cas through the song. He was not so good at talking, but was very expressive when it came to music. This was sorry and I need you and I _clicked_ with you.  
  
“Staring at the bottom of your glass,  
Hoping one day you'll make a dream last,  
But dreams come slow and they go so fast.”

Cas remembered all the dreams he had had about Dean. All the adventures they went on together, the dreams that woke him with a raging boner and more recently, a memory from Dean’s past. It made his promise to Naomi so much worse; it was one thing to know Dean was off limits and another thing entirely when he was there declaring through Cas’ favourite Passenger song that he wanted him.

  
“You see him when you close your eyes,  
Maybe one day you'll understand why,  
Everything you touch surely dies.  
  
But you only need the light when it's burning low,  
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow,  
Only know you love him when you let him go.  
  
Only know you've been high when you're feeling low,  
Only hate the road when you're missin' home,  
Only know you love him when you let him go.  
  
Staring at the ceiling in the dark,  
Same old empty feeling in your heart,  
'Cause love comes slow and it goes so fast.  
  
Well you see him when you fall asleep,  
But never to touch and never to keep,  
'Cause you loved him too much,  
And you dived too deep.  
  
Well you only need the light when it's burning low,  
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow,  
Only know you love him when you let him go.  
  
Only know you've been high when you're feeling low,  
Only hate the road when you're missin' home,  
Only know you love him when you let him go.  
  
And you let him go oh, oh, ooh, oh no,  
And you let him go oh, oh, ooh, oh no,  
Will you let him go?  
  
'Cause you only need the light when it's burning low,  
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow,  
Only know you love him when you let him go.”

The chords stopped there. Everything stopped there. He was close to Cas now, close enough to reach out and touch his face. Cas for his part had just stared in awe and continued to do so now as Dean sang in a low whisper, heart thrumming against his still aching ribcage.  
  
“Only know you've been high when you're feeling low  
Only hate the road when you're missin' home  
Only know you love him when you let him go.”  
  
Closing his eyes, Dean swallowed. “And I let you go.”

“ _Dean_.” It was probably the most beautiful wrecked sound Dean had ever heard; he wanted nothing more than to make Cas sound like that again. He would sing to him, fight beside him and maybe go on jobs with him some day. Hope was alas burned to a crisp at the words Cas said next. More broken and hurt than Dean had ever heard.

“I can’t.”

His hands fell from the neck of the guitar. “What?”

“I'm doing this for you, Dean. I'm doing this because of you.” Beginning to turn away, Dean stepped forward, fingertips brushing against Cas’ own.

“Doing what Cas?” Arms folded above the Colt, he tried to meet Cas’ eyes, but the other boy kept avoiding his gaze.

“I'm trying to stay one step ahead of them, to – to keep them away from you.”

“I don’t understand, Cas we’re like family... I thought you... That we had...” _Clicked._ His brain helpfully supplied.

“They did things to me Dean... Because I was getting too close to you. I can't. You understand? I can't. I destroyed... everything, and I will destroy everything again. Can we please just leave it at that?”

“No. No we can’t! Nobody cares that you’re broken Cas! Because-“ _Because we’re all a little broken._

Quickly walking away, Castiel did not look back. “I’m sorry Dean.”

“Well, I'm sorry, too, then.” Scuffing the dirt with his foot, Dean remained in place.

 

 

Life carried on for the Garrison. Neither Cas nor Dean went down to the pit. Cas chose to hide out in the library while Dean became a recluse in his room. With some coaxing, Anna managed to convince Cas to go down to the pit with just her and Garth. Gabriel had been trying to get Dean and Cas to talk; Cas wasn’t sure he could face his brother at the moment.

“Can’t you just apologise?” Frustrated at Cas’ constipated silence, Anna knew he was over thinking everything in his head, “I hate to see you or Dean like this.” She sighed sadly, Garth remaining complacently silent by her side.

“No... It is far too complicated for that.” He replied, staring off into the distance. The doors to the pit banged, marking the entrance of the Computer nerds.

“Yo, couldn’t find Dean in his room.” Ash tried to sound nonchalant, but after the last time Dean went MIA, it came out somewhere between forced calm and absolute meltdown.

“And it’s late, we know where he used to be at night...” Charlie added, her anxiety not well hidden at all.

“He doesn’t sleep well.” Stating blankly, she turned to Cas, “He used to go out in the middle of the night but was always back by morning.”

“He could get into trouble before then.” He remembered the night when he had fought Raphael beside Dean, it was an uncomfortable memory of when he first stood up to his brothers.

“Or we could go to bed, Dean is tough, he will be fine.” Garth soothed beside Anna. He undoubtedly became a part of the weirdest circle of friends ever. Hugging all three people, he pulled Anna up and led her away from the pit.

“Cas, what do you think we should do?”

“I have no obligations to answer to tomorrow. You two, go get some sleep. I will find Dean.”  

Grateful smiles answered him; Charlie leant forward to kiss his cheek.

“Thanks Cas.”

“May the force be with you dude.”

Taking a deep breath, Cas followed them out of the pit. _Start at their bench?_ As he was making his way through the deserted courtyard, he could hear singing. Only Dean sang like that. He looked up. There illuminated by the glint of the moon, a silhouette danced on the roof top. Cas’ eyes went wide.

“Dean!”

 

 

Racing up the stairway, Cas panted heavily when he busted through the door to the roof. Steadying his breath, he quietly made his way forward. Dean was standing, close to the edge, strumming hard on his guitar and almost shouting the words to a song. Although the chords were correct, he was playing the guitar with so much force, channelling anger and self loathing through each downward stroke of his hand. It gave the song a metallic and harsh resonance.

“The mirror shows not,  
Your values are all shot!”  
  
But oh my heart, was flawed I knew my weakness,  
So hold my hand consign me not to darkness.  
  
So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down,  
I'll never wear your broken crown,  
I took the road and I fucked it all away,  
Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace.  
  
So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down,  
I'll never wear your broken crown,  
I took the road and I fucked it all away,  
Now in this twilight, how dare you speak of grace!”

He spat the last word and fell to his knees. Cas crept forward. Dean was merely inches away from falling certainly to his death. It was a four story building and Naomi’s words hit him like a four by four in the heart.

_  
You are enhanced children not invincible super humans._

  
“So crawl on my belly 'til the sun goes down,  
I'll never wear your broken crown,  
I can take the road and I can fuck it all away,  
But in this twilight, our choices seal our fate.”

Nearly missing the last lyrics to the song, Dean was no more than whispering the words through cracked sobs, Cas found himself stood behind Dean. He placed his hand on his friends shoulder.

“Dean?”

He did not turn around. His head was fixed on the concrete many metres below them.

“Dean.” Cas’ voice broke. Seeing Dean like this, unresponsive, lost made him want to scream. The sky darkened. A rumble resonated through the air as the icy droplets fell like bullets from above. It drenched them both; Dean’s body began to shudder beneath Cas’ hand.

“Cas... Are you God?” Nothing about Dean’s body moved, just a hollow voice shaking through the moisture. Lightning clapped above them.

“That’s a very nice complement but no.” _At least he was talking._

“I fuck everything up. My Dad was a better man than I will ever be and he died. They all burned Cas... All because of me. I couldn’t even get it right with you.” Tugging on Dean’s shoulder, he felt Dean’s will disintegrate beneath him. Cas pulled Dean up and Dean let himself be pulled. Vacant eyes stared back, boring through Castiel’s soaked hair that was plastered over his face. His other hand reached up to cup Dean’s cheek, swiping away the tears mixed with rain. The other boy leaned into the warmth of the touch.

“You cannot save everyone my friend. Though you try.”

A terrifyingly bitter laugh fell from Dean’s wavering lips. Cas stood back from Dean, his expression contorted by misery and guilt. Without a word, Dean removed the strap to the Colt and pushed it into Cas’ chest and turned back to the waiting drop.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“Dean... You just handed me the Colt.” _I’m holding the Colt!_

His whole body succumbed to the tremors. “T... Take better care of her than I did.”

The lightning crackled again, making both the nervous boys jump. Tentatively, Dean stepped closer to the edge.

“You know what’s fucked up Cas? I’m seriously afraid of heights. So this is...” He swallowed the sick that rose in his throat at the extending plunge ahead of him. “Awesome.” He murmured, sarcasm falling easily from his mouth.

 Putting the strap over his head, Cas once again extended his hand to his friends shoulder. “Come back to me Dean.”

Dean shivered. Electricity sent shockwaves through his skin, but no, he doesn’t get to keep the good things in his life. “I’m a monster Cas. I failed you. I failed you like I've failed every other godforsaken thing that I care about!” His foot teetered over the abyss. “I’m sorr-“

In one swift movement, Cas pulled Dean back from the edge and into him. Sagging against him, Cas could feel the stutter of Dean’s heart as the sobs were choked out. He had never hugged someone before...

He had been hugged, Gabriel was ever one for dramatics, but he mostly stood awkward throughout the embrace. So now, now was his chance. His eyelids slid shut. Closing his arms around the trembling boy, he wrapped his arms around his waist, rubbing soothing circles on his back as Gabe had done for him when Father disappeared. _No, this is about Dean now._

 Dean had buried his face in the crook of his neck. He could feel the shudders racking their way through Dean; the skin of his arms was like ice and for the first time, he was more like a child than Cas had ever seen him. Vulnerable. The rain slid down from the heavens, coating them and keeping them in place.

“I’m here. It isn’t your fault. Come with me Dean.” Even as he spoke, Dean remained impassive in his arms. Gently, he encouraged Dean down from the roof, half carrying him to his own room.

It wasn’t until Dean was sat, shaking on his bed that Cas realised how close he had come to losing Dean. He leaned the Colt against the wall and began to strip Dean of his clothes. Motionless, Dean let him do it. He had dreamt of this, of undressing Dean, but this wasn’t about satisfying a fantasy. Dean had almost killed himself. _And part of it was my own fault. He needs me just like I need him. We are screwed._ Naked on his bed, Cas took clean, dry clothes from his drawers, redressed Dean and tucked him into his bed.

Green eyes stared at him, showing a piece of terrified emotion in those once bright features. “Cas... Stay?”

“Well we are in my room.” Cas did his best not to be blunt, but that’s just the way he is, so he nodded and began to strip down the soggy clothes from his own body. It is funny, because although they feel the cold, it is actually not life threatening. He sighed as the freezing damp of his cotton boxers fell off. _Should I be more modest around Dean?_ Shrugging a clean shirt and boxers on, he stared at the boy in his bed. He was curled up in a foetal position, facing the window. The covers were pulled back... _Does this mean he wants to...?_ After a quick and easily won debate, Cas cautiously slipped into bed beside Dean.

Immediately, Dean turned and burrowed into the warmth of Cas. Without thinking, Cas planted a kiss to the top of his still wet hair, earning a sigh from Dean’s still shuddering body.

“Thanks for rescuing me, angel _._ ” Dean mumbled into his shirt, exhaustion taking him away as he was speaking.

“I’m not going to let them get to you, Dean.” Cas promised.

He lay awake for a long time, watching Dean sleep and feeling the stuttering rise and fall of Dean’s chest against his own. When sleep finally dragged him under, he held onto Dean tighter. _I’m not going to risk losing you again._


	9. Oh Snap, We Clicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DESTIEL.  
> Kisses for you all (^.^)//  
> Next chapter up tomorrow//Saturday.  
> Peace Out bitches -xo

_Mmhmm. How am I warm and comfortable?_

Shifting in a half dazed sleep, Dean snuggled closer to the warmth that radiated from where he was resting. He lay there for a few more seconds when he realised something was holding his hands. Unsurely cracking open one eye, he got a face full of dark brown hair.

“Cas...?”

“Hello Dean.”

It’s all fair and well for Cas to sound as calm as the ocean, he never gets flustered by anything! On the other hand, what happened last night? There was rain and thunder, he had gone to the Arena and been crowned ‘Ring Fight Champion’. _Ah, that’s what started it._ It brought back all kinds of painful memories and he’s been there, thank you very much, for the past month. He was just sick of it all: of being alone, having no friends, no family and being forced into a soldiers shoes. Dean was... Tired.

In the time of his thoughts in his mind, Cas had stopped rubbing circles with his fingers in the palm of his hand; his head was tilted down awkwardly to try and look into Dean’s eyes.

“Dean?”

Shit, he was still sprawled across Cas. Slowly easing away, (shut up they weren’t cuddling, he’s just comfy), he plastered on his fake ass grin and croaked.  _Where are we? Fuck this must be Cas' room._ _  
_

“Yeah Cas?”

He still had his hand in Cas’. _Shit this is beyond awkward._ Trying to remove it from Cas’ grasp, the other boy gripped it tight.

“We need to talk.” His voice was deep and gravely... Yet as impassive as ever.

“I don’t want to talk about anything with you Cas!” Groaning, he moved his face from Cas’ shoulder and smothered it in the pillow. _God damn, it smells like Cas._

“With me.” He almost missed the words that fell coldly from Cas’ lips. Sitting up, Dean grunted as his back popped and he turned to face Cas. He mirrored the position Cas had shifted too, so that they were sat knee to knee, one hand holding their contact in place.

“It’s not like that Cas, I don't want to talk about it with anyone!” Desperately, Dean tried to search out the electric blue that he now so solidly associated with his friend. No reaction. He sighed and fidgeted unsettled by the whole holding hands thing. “Since when did you care anyway? I thought it was all ‘for my own good or whatever’.”

That caused something to snap in Castiel. His eyes flew up; bleeding with emotion and pain that Dean would actually think that of him.

“It was _because_ I cared that pushed you away! I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

Unable to hold Cas’ earnest gaze, Dean looked to the bed again. He picked idly at the thread of the quilt. “Yeah? Got hurt anyway didn’t I? Shoulda let me do it Cas. S’not like anyone would miss me.”

“You fishing for compliments or something Rodgers? What about your family?!”

Dean ripped his hand from Cas’ with such ferocity that he actually startled himself. “THEY’RE DEAD CAS. GONE. CAPUT. AND IT’S ALL BECAUSE OF ME.” Panting heavily for a few breaths, he let out a strangled cry, “So just let me do this. Before you leave me too.”

“You don’t even realise do you. I meant Charlie and Ash, Gabriel, Kali? What you forget that they were worried and give a damn about you?” Silence met him and without Dean’s hand to ground him, Cas searched the room uncomfortably. “Charlie and Ash broke into the system to get a peek at your file. Gabriel told me about what happened and I... I  raised you from perdition.”

“No Cas. You dragged me from Heaven.”

Cas stared at him then dumbstruck.

“What?”

“You Castiel, frigging angel of the Lord, came to me in my dream. Not that I usually mind.” He mumbled under his breath, “And you said, you told me that we could work it out. I tried Cas! I tried to show you... That I need you. I thought we clicked.” Closing his eyes, he whispered the words that had shadowed his Heaven with Sammy. “I need you Cas.”

That was all it took for Cas to close the space between them. Their lips crashed, Dean gasping in surprise into the kiss. It was possessive, needy, too many emotions trying to cross from one mouth to another. Hungrily, Cas licked Dean’s bottom lip, asking for permission. In an instant, Dean’s mouth complied and Cas was mapping the inside of him, tongues clashing and uncensored growls escaped either boy. Pushing forward, Cas spread on top of Dean, their hips arching into one another sending zaps of energy through their bodies. Dean’s hands were  running through Cas’ unruly mop and he smirked into the kiss as the new directions of the madness of his hair were caused by him. Something spanning across his chest sent goose bumps through Dean and made Cas’ heart beat wild in his chest.

Eventually, they had to stop for air. Cas pulled back, lopsided grin on his face.

“Just so we’re clear, that I need you too.”


	10. It's Time For Your Review

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH GOD DON'T MAKE ME WRITE PORN THIS IS SHAMEFUL I APOLOGISE AHGODDDD. 
> 
> Next update in 2 days (:
> 
> I am so sorry. Please forgive me. 
> 
> Please leave feedback you lovely people.

“Cas. Cas stop looking like a constipated pigeon. What’s up with you bro?” Stuffing the chocolate bar in his face, Gabe rolled his eyes at the motionless, head tilted shell that was his brother. “It’s not about Deano is it? I thought you guys have sorted it out now.” With a huff, Gabriel hates being ignored and sometimes it’s like Cas is doing it deliberately, he screwed the wrapper up and flicked it at Cas’ head.

“It’s that time of year.” Expressionless, Cas robotically rubbed the place on his head where the candy cannonball hit him.

“Shit, Cas I didn’t know you were a chick under all that masculine silence! Should I get Anna? I’m a little out of my depth with that talk bro. How about I get you some chocolate and bring Dean down here to rub your belly?”

Cas was watching him now, face caught between ‘what the hell are you on about’ and ‘how are we related'. Frowning again, Cas grumbled, “I do not understand how that would aid me with the review.”

Gabriel had gotten up to leave and find someone to join in the teasing, but what Cas had said drew him back to his seat. The pit was empty, save Gabe and Cas, because the others were out getting supplies.

“So that’s what it’s about. I remember having to do that in your year, but hey at least you get to choose who you’re reviewing.”

Somehow, Cas’ shoulders slunk further down his chest, his forehead resting on bent knees. Absent-mindedly, he fiddled with the hem of his trench coat. “Gabriel you completely avoided this. I know Kali did all the work. I have chosen Uriel and Rachel.”

“Why?”

A shrug answered. _Not because of Dean. Not because of Dean. Not because of Dean._ “We have known them for a while. They are very ‘to the book’ as you might say. I do not feel like spending hours over this type of work.”

Gabriel was silent for a few moments. “You still want to fly, don’t you Castiel?”

As if a response needed to be had; in unspoken agreement, they waited for the rest of the Garrison to arrive.

 

 

The memory stick was thrust into Castiel’s waiting hand. Sighing, he left the class and headed straight to his room. There, a laptop and food were waiting as well as a note from Dean.

_He buddy, I know you’ve got this ‘review’ thing or whatever. I’ll drop by later, sing you a song :) Don’t work any harder than I would._

_Dean_

Uncontrollably, he chuckled to himself. _If I worked as hard as you on paperwork Dean, I would get nothing done._ They had risked a lot, having a more-than-friendship and keeping it below the radar. It meant late night rendezvous and stolen kisses in the Pit. Of course, now Dean was included as a third year, and Cas was no longer partnered, they _had_ to go together in some lessons such as combat... Which was a test of wills as they battled to fight off an erection in the middle of class as well as each other.

Cas still needed to talk to Dean about the dreams. It wasn’t like he didn’t like having them, but it intrigued him to no end about Dean’s coma; the other memories Castiel had unwittingly witnessed.

Falling heavily onto his bed, he switched the laptop on and plugged the hard drive in. _This is literally going to take forever._ Each pair of ‘Collectors’ had the names of 30 children on. 15 girls and 15 boys. The Collectors would go to the houses and take the children away once they were old enough. (Younger siblings are often taken at the first sweep of the house). The technology department at Christo’s is above and beyond what people call ‘incredible’ in the normal world. In order to ensure that the Collectors are trained to be as efficient and effective as possible, wireless feed, miniature, less than 1m in diameter, cameras are placed on each person. This way, both of the pair are filmed and all the methods and potential learning points can be recorded. In turn, this then has to be reviewed. Enter the 3 rd years.

One by one, he clicked his fingers as he waited for the screen to load. He made it through 8 digits when the pop up box appeared.

On the screen was a list of folders, alphabetically sorted by last name. Cas already knew which name he was headed to first. Clicking the search bar, he typed in ‘Dean’.

2 names came up:

_Dean Smith_

_Dean Winchester_

He had no idea which one was actually his Dean. Shuffling the papers so that he could begin to take notes, he wrote down ‘Dean’ and hesitated. Double clicking the first name and first file, he held his breath.

The video footage popped up in a new window. A small, new build house loomed up on the screen. Stopping the car, Cas was given a shoulder height view of Rachel from Uriel’s POV. A few seconds ticked on and there was no movement so he skipped ahead. A short, black haired boy came up on the screen. His hair was similar but his eyes were all wrong and he was wearing a suit and tie! Despite not doubting that Dean would look ravishing in a tux, Cas knew that Dean was a trackies and old rock band t-shirt kind of guy – he had said as much.

Closing the window, Cas went back to the other name. He clicked the file.

 _Winchester. His name is Dean Winchester._ Heat fluttered in his chest as he watched much of the same piece of footage. They drove up in their car and parked across the street. Several minutes passed, but neither Uriel nor Rachel said anything. Just then, the front door opened and he saw 2 small boys leave the house. His heart almost bottomed out.

Dean looked so young there and that must be Sam, same dusty brown hair, grown long and flopping as he bounced away dragging Dean along. Even from the distance, Cas could see the slight upturn of Dean’s lips, his head twitching back towards the house and then returning to his brother, hung almost inconceivably lower than before.

The sound of Uriel’s voice came through the speakers and nearly made him jump out of bed defensively.

“Shall we follow them and take them while they are unprotected?”

 “No, it will distress the children less if they are taken peaceably.”

Uriel grunted something along the lines of “Disgusting mud monkeys.”

Cas skipped ahead almost 10 minutes because like Hell he was going to sit there and watch Uriel tap on the dash of the car in boredom. The next thing he knew, they were out of the car, walking up the steps to the house. He could hear shouting coming from inside, a woman’s shrill voice and a man’s gruff one answering. 

The door swings open...

_How?!_

There she is. The woman in ash from my dream. She is standing, staring at Uriel, her eyes cold with malice. Without the shouting of who is now obviously Dean’s parents, an eerie silence has washed over them.

Reaching for the other man’s sleeve, the vibrant woman spoke first.

“You won’t take them.”

In the corner of the screen there was movement where Rachel was preparing herself.

“What makes you so sure of that Mary?”

The man leapt forward, Uriel turning to see him get in Rachel’s face, “Because I’m not going to let you get my boys.”

Everything was manic from then on. Fortunately, the cameras are the best quality megapixel out there, so each sharp movement of Uriel’s body lagged for only a second. Smashing, the sound of a bottle breaking filled the speakers.

“John!” A panicked voice cried out. Uriel turned to see the man face down on the floor, blood matting in his hair and Rachel straightening her suit.

“Wait in the car, Uriel, the ladies need to talk.”

_Shit! This is not how a collection is meant to go at all._

Frantically minimising the window, I clicked Rachel’s video and dragged the seeker to roughly the same point as before. The video buffered for a second and then resumed playing. I watched as Uriel left. Rachel stepped over, presumably John’s unconscious body, and had stepped closer to Mary; the other woman backed away equal parts to Rachel’s advancing.

“Mary, you knew this day was coming.”

Mary eyed Rachel wearily.

“No. We got away.”

Rachel’s laugh pierced through the speakers. “No one ever gets away. We have been monitoring little Sam and Dean-“

“Don’t you dare speak their names!”

Quiet engulfed them again. Rachel sat in the chair across from Mary. She paced, back and forth, every so often her eyes glancing to John and to the door.  Then it was there. A barely audible ‘click’. Rachel turned to the doorway. A small voice called into the chocking silence.

“Mom? Dad?” Castiel’s heart stopped. That was Dean.

“Dean, get Sam and run!” Whipping round, the nose of the gun was shown in the camera lens. Mary was moving forward when the shots rained out. Two soft ‘putting’ noises.

_Dean._

“Mom!”

Suddenly, a small boy was running into the room and a shorter boy ran round him straight to the now frozen corpse of Mary. Cas shuddered as he looked into the cold eyes that he had seen in his dream.

His attention was once again on Dean who upon entering the room, was already in tears, had scanned the area; he didn’t look particularly concerned at the sight of his father.

“You... YOU KILLED MY MOM!” He screamed at her, tears streaming down his face. Shuffling slightly, Dean had placed himself between Rachel and Sam, so that he was blocked from view. The tip of the gun slid down the camera view and Cas presumed she had pocketed it in an attempt to calm Dean down. “You stay behind me Sammy, you hear?” A wail answered which was apparently enough for Dean’s shoulders to slump a little from the tension.

He watched as Dean’s tiny hands rubbed across his face and his big green eyes blinked clearing away the liquid. Inspecting her quickly, Dean’s jaw set as she called for Uriel. Castiel had seen that look many times before.

“Dean, it’s alright. My name is Rachel. Do you know who I am?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re the bitch that killed my mom.”

Rachel’s inhale of breath was audible through the camera. “Really Dean that is quite rude. Naomi is going to have trouble with you I can tell.” The shot leaned left just enough to capture a tuft of brown shuddering against Mary’s body before Dean’s angry face superimposed Sam once again. “Perhaps not so much your brother.”

Cas scrutinised Dean’s small body, his posture was off; he was biting his lip, minutely moving his head analysing the room. His face literally dropped when Uriel came into the room. Twitching for a few seconds, he slowly stepped away from them.

“What do you want with me and my brother?” 

Stretching, Cas moved closer to the screen. _What is Dean playing at?_

“We just want to take you somewhere safe.” 

 The look on Dean’s face was priceless, he knew, even then, that Uriel was talking shit out of his ass. Continuing to shuffle backwards, Cas watched as Dean played them at their own game.

“Yes, safe.” 

They were still advancing on Dean but were looking at each other rather than at him, he had reached the fireplace and had taken a poker from the rack.

His cocky grin was back, faintly tainted by tear streaked cheeks and puffy red eyes. “You should be more concerned about your own safety.”

Quickly lashing forward, the now drawn gun was knocked from Rachel’s hand.

“Jesus Christ kid! Uriel get him!” She screeched and dashed from the room.

“Nononono.” Cas fumbled with the computer, maximising Uriel’s feed and dragging it to the point he got to. He felt horrible, Dean lost his Mom when they brought him here; no wonder he doesn’t talk about his home. Watching as Dean circled the metal bar around his wrist Cas realised that action was familiar, Dean had done it down in the Pit. It was an absolutely natural movement.

“My pleasure.” The camera looked down at an awkward angle to Uriel’s hand which was already starting to swell from the impact; it was not enough to stop him from grabbing the poker and pushing against it causing Dean to fall to the ground. Involuntarily, Cas was no longer lounging on the bed but on his feet. The screen began to shake.

From above Uriel, a John Winchester spoke, “Dean,” The wide green eyes shot up looking above the cameras view, “Take care of Sam.” Castiel witnessed the change. Something went hard in those lush green eyes, turning innocence into a killers glare.

“Yes Sir.” That wasn’t even the sound of Dean’s previous voice. It was clipped and submissive; a recruit confirming a sergeant’s order.

A crackle of an earphone and Uriel too left the house. As he walked out, Rachel gave him a sly smile. In her hand was a small device. Cas peered closer, trying to get a better glimpse at what she held in her hand.

“Smoke ‘em out.” Uriel asked.

“Smoke them out.” She responded, smile growing.

The camera stayed stationary. Then, in the corner of the screen, the object crashed through the window of Dean’s house.

Instantly, the window became enraged in bright red and orange. _No._ It quickly consumed the rest of the view from where the two Agents were watching vigilantly. The camera turned to see Rachel, the flames dancing in the glint of her eyes. _Dean!_

Panning round, the two murderers stood in companionable silence. Uriel leaned to the side and then visibly slumped against the car.

Castiel’s heart forced it’s way to his throat. His breathing hitched. Even though he knew Dean made it, what about Sam? _Maybe that’s why... Oh._ It hit him like a silver bullet to a warewolf. Dean never spoke of his old home because his whole family died in order for them to bring him here. He hated the place because they took everything from him; what Cas knew of Dean was that he was loyal to a fault, classing family above everything else in his being.

“Yes sir... No sir. Dean got away sir. Sam? No I don’t think - . Of course sir. The Winchester’s are dead and we will find Dean.” Rachel said, calculating and picking at her nails.

Feeling sick, Cas skipped uneven lengths of the footage. Most of it was waiting, police and fire crews coming to sort out the damage. _So it had been Dean’s house I was in. How is that even possible?_ The world moved across the screen. Streets. Unsuspecting people. Walking through the now charcoal skeleton of the home it was before. And then the car. Sun drooping down the sky, black bleeding and spreading across the brightness of before. Finally, a small figure trudged back through the camera lens, forgoing the fence, hopping straight over and plonking harshly down on the scorched steps. The Colt was on his back; he pulled it round as he sat.

Uriel exited the vehicle. As he got closer, Cas could hear some of the words softly sung from Dean’s mouth.

“Blue skies from pain.

Can you tell a green field, from a cold steel rail?

A smile from a viel?

Do you think you can tell.”

 

That was the most exposed Cas had ever seen Dean. Huddled over the guitar, tears falling freely once more... _No Sam?_

 

“Winchester.”

Dean messed the chord up. He strummed down too hard and his hand had slipped down the wooden neck of the guitar. That hadn’t escaped the fires grasp either; he could see the discoloured wood, the strings stained by ash.

 

“Just take me.”

 

“Everything will be explained once you are at base.”

 

The film carried on until the screen went black. Closing his eyes, Cas let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. _Dean has been carrying that the whole time._

His legs were moving before the rest of his body registered what happened. Angrily, _how could John make his last words to his son an impossible promise_ , he charged into Dean’s door.

Dean was sat Indian style on his bed, Colt in his hands, strumming slowly and singing passionately the words to a song. Surging into him, Cas pushed him into the bed and kissed him possessively. After a few minutes, Cas was starting to get hard, what with Dean’s exploratory hands, but this wasn’t what that was supposed to be about. Reluctantly, he pulled back.

Dazed, Dean’s heavy lidded eyes smirked back him. “Cas, not that I mind... But what the hell?”

Tenderly, Cas sat in Dean’s lap, the Colt trapped between them, Dean’s hands rubbing soothing circles on Cas’ back as he held him by the waist. Dean let Cas and only Cas touch the Colt - it was strangely more intimate than any of the sexual interactions they have shared. All of a sudden, Cas was nervous. _What if he doesn’t want to talk to me anymore?_ At best, Dean was a mess when it came to talking about his emotions.

“Cas?”

“I... The review.” He stumbled over his words, hands running up and down the neck of the guitar. _Man that’s distracting_. “I saw what happened to you.”

Dean’s hands stopped.

“What?”

Looking down, Cas tipped Dean’s head up to catch his eyes in his own.

“The fire.”

“Oh.”

“Dean, it’s ok look at me. I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Stop thinking like that, I want to make you feel better.” Dean closed the space between them, gently pressing their lips together. “Is this working?”

“Mhm. Maybe a little bit.”

 

Fingertips slid up Cas’ shirt; he lifted the Colt from Dean’s hands. Their lips crashed again, chapped meeting soft before slipping tongues together side by side. Lifting Cas’ shirt of, Dean broke the kiss to suck at Cas’ collarbone smiling against the feel of his skin and the low moan that erupted from Cas’ chest. He did the same, so that they were chest to chest, sucking and nipping at any skin they could reach. Cas had slid further onto Dean’s lap, their erections rubbing against the fabric, gasping for more friction.

Lids sliding shut, Dean stopped his attention to Cas’ neck and lay his forehead on the man’s shoulder. Cas knew what this meant. Dean would never admit to it, but he was a cuddler, and a little spoon. Carefully, Cas pushed him down, wrapping his arms around him tightly. Cold wet droplets spread across his bare skin. Dean snuggled into Cas closer, letting the larger boy trap his legs and hold his body.

This is what he needs. Cas knew everything now – well almost everything.

He sighed, unable to stop the flow of tears. Cas was tracing the scars on his back. Chuckling, he leant faintly away from Cas’ chest. Trapping Dean’s hand, Cas laced their fingers together on his right hand and brought it up between them.

 

“How did you get the scars on your hands?”

 

“Moved on from the ones on my back huh?” That paused Cas’ gentle caress with his left hand. He pinched Dean’s back.

“Don’t avoid the question. They look like lightning, thunderous patterns across your palms.”

Rolling his eyes Dean said, “The Colt.” Cas’ grip tightened, “You saw the fire? When I grabbed the neck of the guitar, the heat from the flames had made the metal strings hot. You're smart, the rest is scar tissue.”

 

Castiel's deft fingers left Dean's hand and circled th black ink on his chest. He traced the pattern, including the angry scar.

"And this?" Dean shrugged against Cas' body.

"Me an' Sammy got identical ones. It means I can't get 'possessed' by another gang. In the ring, this gang called the Demons or some apocalyptic shit basically won or owned everything. I got jumped, they carved that," his peck muscle jumped, "Into my skin. My Dad fought them off and I got the Hunter's symbol to protect me or whatever."

 

Closing his arms around him again, he pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. The rain fell down the window pane. They fell asleep, Dean cocooned in Cas’ warmth and Cas relieved to have Dean safe in his arms.

When he was sure Dean was asleep, he whispered into Dean’s dirty blonde hair, “I will watch over you.”

  
To his surprise, Dean held him back tighter, “I know angel. I got your back.”


	11. Out Here In The Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's late!  
> Let me know what you think :3  
> Not much left of this story to go. Might have another chapter up in the next few days but I want to add to my Pirates Series so yeah, depends how creative my head is feeling.
> 
> Thanks for reading, unbetaed my apologies for mistakes. I will fix them if I see them.  
> Peace Out Bitches -xo

The metallic voice reverberated through Dean’s bones at 5 am. _The sun wasn’t even up yet for fucks sake!_ One minute, he was exchanging lazy kisses with Cas in his warm bed, the next they’re fully dressed and freezing their asses off in the main hall. All the third years, gathered in one place... And Dean was about to find out why.

“Hello my dear little darlings.”

He turned to look at Cas, one eyebrow comically arched over the other. Mouthing at him, _Balthazar_ , Cas shrugged back; he was sagging slightly into Dean because Cas is even less of a morning person than he is.

“I’m not the fearless leaders I know. Just here to tell you about the training facility you are heading out to in 2 hours.”

“What!” Someone in the group called, despite the voice not being able to hear.

“You’re off to France. Hurray for you lucky people. It’s going to be combat all round, so I hope you got your 50 winks last night. Meet back here at exactly 7, oh and you’re flying out. Have fun.”

With a groan, he and Cas made their way back to Cas’ room. Still not allowed to be together, Cas’ room just naturally came the place they slept and hung out in when they weren’t down at the pit. Plus Gabe had managed to get a feather duvet which made Cas’ bed heaven. Not to mention the ragged, gorgeous bright blue eyed boy that also resided there. And his damn octopus legs, Dean chuckled to himself.

“Wha’ so funny? Don wanna go, wanna sleep.” Mumbling into Dean’s shoulder, Cas' face became contorted by a yawn.

“Jus’ thinking about how clingy you are when you sleep.” He looked fondly at the man leaning on his shoulder. You wouldn’t believe that it was the same guy who can shoot a target 200 ft away clean. Or has the best damn knife wielding skills (second only to Dean). Hand to hand combat that is almost as amazing to watch as it is to fight against.

Straightening, Cas glowered at him, but for the life of him, Dean couldn’t help but laugh; Cas’ hair was a lost cause.

“I do not hear you complaining when you are the little spoon.” If you didn’t know Cas, you would miss the twinge of his lips as he deadpanned the sentence. Red flared up Dean’s cheeks.

Playfully, Dean shoved his shoulder. “You love it.”

They made it to Cas’ room and he helped Cas pack. Rather, Cas fell on the bed and didn’t move so Dean packed his bag. He had done it loads of times for Sammy, it wasn’t a big deal. Just as he was folding the last shirt into the bag, he felt a pressure against his back.

“Cas...” The other man nipped at his neck.

“Mhmm.” His mouth ventured lower, hands simultaneously slipping up his shirt.

“S’not... Mph... S’not going to help me pack.” Fingers ghosting over his nipple, Cas turned him around so they were nose to nose, pushing Dean back against the drawers. It wasn’t like Dean could resist anyway. Cas surged into him, teeth clashing in desperation; Dean’s hands found their way into Cas’ hair.

When they finally broke for air, they were both hard, Cas rutting against Dean and Dean’s hips jerking up to the friction.

“Alright, alright. A quickie cos I have to pack too you horny bastard.”

Cas giggled. Fucking giggled as he sucked on Dean’s earlobe. “You’re a very fast packer.” As he said ‘packer’ his hands slid down and into Dean’s boxers. He groaned like an animal and his hips stuttered at the touch.

Catching his mouth again, Dean part broke the kiss to speak, “Less clothes. You ah, need less clothes.”

Which ended them on the bed, their dicks sliding past each other, Dean clawing faint white lines into Cas’ back while Cas sucked dark red hickeys across any skin he could reach. Holding his hand out, Cas excruciatingly slowly licked each of Dean’s fingers and palm; he paid special attention to the scars. Uncomfortable at the attention that Cas always gave to the worst parts of his body, he shoved his hand between them, grabbing their dicks and working them together. Dean felt the rumble of Cas’ chest when he twisted his wrist. A sloppy kiss and a few pumps later, they were both spent. Creaming Dean’s hand and their stomachs, sandwiching the warmth between them when Cas collapsed.

Dean’s fingers ran up Cas’ back, causing him to shiver and nose further into Dean’s neck.

“Cas, we need to get cleaned up.”

“No.” He said it with all the conviction of the angel he’s named after, death gripping onto Dean.

“No?” He sniggered, “Well alright then.” When you sleep with someone, you get to know their buttons. Dean had inadvertently discovered Cas was ticklish just beneath his 4th rib. Sneakily, his hands moved from Cas’ back and slinked down his ribs. One... two... Three... Four! Dean wanted nothing more than to bottle the sound Cas made. It was so low, more like a grunt of surprise laced with shaking gravel in a pot.

Showering fast, Cas walked with Dean to his own room to pack. Cas sat on the bed holding the Colt in his hands. He strummed down. Dean turned to smile at him.

“I’m going to have to teach you one day. We could sing together.”

Putting the last pair of trousers in his bag, he zipped it up.

“I told you Dean, I don’t sing.”

 

Then they were on the plane. 2000ft in the air, travelling 500 mph, with parachutes strapped to their backs.

“Cas. I hate flying.” Dean managed through clenched teeth. Smugly, Cas sat opposite him; he leaned forward to pat his knee.  
“You’ve mentioned.”

Dean screwed his eyes shut. Like that was going to help. He thought of Sam, and Mom’s pie, of the Colt. What wouldn’t he give to have something in his hands? The Colt, a gun, anything. Someone tapped on his shoulder. Turning to glare at the asshole, green met blue. He was lost in the ocean. The tension dripped from his shoulders and a deep breath escaped his lips. There was a hand on his shoulder. The same shoulder. Minutely, he leaned to the touch. It was enough until the doors opened.

They were falling.

His eyes searched for Cas and he saw him. So fluid in motion, so sure of gravity. He looked like he belonged soaring through the sky. His eyes peacefully closed. Dean’s imagination helpfully supplied the image of raven black wings outstretched from the lean muscles of Cas’ back. A brief moment passed where Dean truly thought he had lost it, as the chutes were released. All around white canvasses opened out, blanketing his vision and becoming one with the snowy landscape below. Maybe that’s how Cas does it? The sense of impending doom does wonders for the thoughts currently in turmoil in his head. For instance: would he at long last be paired with Cas for good?

He landed on the solid ice ungracefully with a thud, rolling on his side and unclipping the parachute.

“I’m alive. Fuck it’s cold.” He felt someone pulling his elbow and was obliged to follow with him the trudging figures. Looming through the blizzard he first laid eyes on the complex. It was giant, transparent almost. The main building gave off the appearance of an igloo. It was domed, with garage type doors coming off all the way around. There were fences to separate the sections.

A huge metal door rattled open, the huddling figures entering into the bright light ahead of them. Once inside the room, they were met by warmth... But all around were weapons hung on walls and in the centre a round table. The wall opposite had a flat screen TV and maps either side. It looked like something out of a James Bond movie, like a lair. _Wait, we are spies aren’t we? Dipshit._ Mentally scolding himself, he removed his goggles and helmet.

“What is this place?” One of the pluckier girls of the group asked.

“This.” A gruff voice boomed, “Is a top secret training facility in the middle of the Alps, France.”

“Not that secret if you tell us where it is.” Another person scoffed.

“What’s your name kid?”

“Jessie. What’s it to you?”

“Well Jessie, my name’s Benny. I run this joint and none of you, repeat for the thicker skulls, _none_ of you leave here without my say so. This is the elite training centre, the final piece before you head into your forth year and for many of you, to war.”

Dean glanced at Cas who was shifting slightly beneath his trench coat.

“You will be in your pairs,” Benny went on, “Out of those doors. You have each been assigned a specific door but we will worry about that later. There will be a mission for each pair to do. Complete the mission, return through the doors and you get your tattoos. Any questions?”

“How are we supposed to complete a mission if we are freezing our asses off?!” Dean recognised that voice, who was it? Ruby.

“Little Miss, do you know why temperature affects the human body?” She shook her head, her expression stormy at being undermined. Dean was really starting to like this Benny guy. “Well, when the temperature gets too cold or too hot, the enzymes within your cells become denatured. No enzymes means no chemical reactions in your body, so you die. Now, you, like me, can feel the cold. You feel it, smart ass, but it doesn’t affect your body. Moral of the story-“

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Cas interrupted, in the same serious tone as always.

Benny grinned, “That and you get out there and accustom to the cold. The next conflict you fight in might be in Antarctica if the Russian’s plan on drilling there for oil.”

Silence settled over the room.

“Now, get to your doors.”

Rattling through the names and corresponding numbers, each pair was lead to their section and had the necessities prepared for them. Which left Dean, Cas sat on the chairs around the colossal table.

“I wish I had a baseball.”

“How would that help us in any way to complete the mission.”

Bored, Dean’s fingers drummed on the table. He stopped instantly as he saw two girls walking towards them, closely followed by Benny.

“Aw shit dude, I know her.”

“Another one of your old conquests?” Cas chided easily, a hint of jealousy in his words.

A beautiful woman, with long dark hair and twinkling brown eyes stopped short of where Dean was sitting. She stared at Dean, eyes narrow and lips pinched. “Can I at least get a reaction from you?”

“Panic. I would say panic is my reaction.”

Cas snorted a laugh.

“Dude not helping.” Dean whispered from the side of his mouth, before facing Lisa, fake smile and all.

“Alright, Dean. You’re doorway 59 with Lisa and Castiel, you’re doorway 60 with Nora.” Benny looked up from his clipboard to see Cas practically glued to Dean’s side, a look of sheer terror on his face and Dean leaning comfortingly into Cas away from Lisa.

He reviewed the scene before him twice and then clapped his hands shooing them away.

Walking to the mic, the speakers crackled into life; he rolled his eyes at the shoddy reception the centre got.

“Alright ladies and gents, you get this done today and you should be home before lunch tomorrow. Missions will be on your screens coming up now, but be careful. There are,” he sighed internally wincing at the sound of it, “ _Demons_ out there. Convicts really but it’s kill or be killed. This is not a drill. They will kill you if you give them half a chance. Good luck.”

 

 

Awkwardly, they walked to door 59. Dean pressed the button and immediately, the door wobbled into life. Inside, there were more weapons on one side and equipment on the other. In the wall between some extra clothing and the equipment, was a mounted tablet. Making a beeline for the panel, he avoided Lisa at all costs.

 

_Rodgers and Braeden._

_There is a package at the far end of your strip of land. It is protected by 3 demons. Eliminate and extract the package. No survivors._

_[ACCEPT]_

 

 _That seems simple enough._ Taken from his thoughts by Lisa talking, he turned to face her.

“So... I get the package, you take out the convicts or I take out the convicts and you nab the package?”

“You always did know how to get down to business.” Softly, she sighed, “I will get the package you can do the killing.”

Dean frowned at that. He had taken lives before, what makes this any different? It was part of the job, Hell most of the cases that 3rd years are given are hits. Nothing to be ashamed of... Is there?

Suddenly, Ellen was in his head. _Don’t let them change the goodness in your heart._

Ouch.

“Dean?”

“Oh yeah, ok. I’m thinking a thermal scoped sniper with a silencer, take them out quietly then you can stroll in. No need for me to get close.”

“Sounds like a plan, Rodgers.”

The ‘ACCEPT’ button was flashing at him now. Gearing up, sniper on his back, where the Colt should be, he also slipped a pistol down the back of his waistline and a knife into his boot – old habits dying hard.

“Here goes nothin’.” He pressed the button. A loud buzzing noise hissed through the air and he and Lisa stepped out of the cover onto the ice.

 

 

Cas walked a step behind Nora. _I don’t want to be with Nora, I clicked with Dean._ He huffed, suffering in his own silence. They had left the table after Lisa and Dean so the door number 59 was already closed when they got there.

“Soo... Castiel, you’re pretty cute.”

He squinted at her, “Thank you?”

She pecked his cheek. “No problem.”

Shaking his head, he walked straight to get kitted up. The sooner this was over the sooner he could get back to Dean. The buckle of his belt clicked and he strode to the panel where Nora was reading.

“What are the orders?”

“Someone has been kidnapped. Kill the bad guys, save the damsel. 5 demons.” She looked him over. “No guns?”

“I prefer to use my blade.” Lips curling genuinely, he waited by the door. She joined him.

“We take them out quiet.”

“Yes.”

The gap beneath the door increased the white washing away the darkness in the room. Together, they stepped out into the abyss.

 

 

Lying on the ice, Dean took a breath to steady him; his finger bounced gingerly on the trigger. He placed his eye to the scope. Through it, he could see nothing but a white open space stretched out in front of him, but, to his left Lisa’s shrinking figure, the faintest of outlines of the fences and then he saw them. In his head he marked them out. Not people, targets: Target 1. Target 2. Target 3.

Breathing out, he squeezed the trigger. The silencer muffled the gunshot, losing the noise in the growling wind. Target 1, who had strayed from the group, dropped to the floor. The pulsing heat signature slowed down and began to fade.

Easily, he lined up Target 2. It and Target 3 were standing together so this would have quick. Exhaling once more, he expertly squeezed, realigned and squeezed. The other two bodies plunged to the floor.

“All clear Lis.” He called out into the snow.

“It’s heavy Dean, get here and help me."

Seeing through his scope, he advanced on her position, taking the package in his own arms. They were close to the fence, when by chance Dean turned to hear a grunt. That was Cas.

 

 

The snow made visibility very low; that aided a camouflaged infiltration mission. Stealthily, Cas came up behind the first man, covering his mouth and muffling his scream as the knife slit cleanly across the man’s throat. He heard a scuffle beside him, presuming that Nora had taken one down as well.

Surprise gripped him when he felt larger hands grabbing him from behind. Elbowing back, his bone connected with the ribs of his attacker. However, the man was strong and held him still under his arms while another landed a blow of his own to Cas’ abdomen. Grunting, Cas found himself surrounded and slumped into the original assailant. _Where is Nora?_

 

 

In the blink of an eye, he shoved the package back into Lisa and dashed into the snow storm away from the welcoming warmth of the open hatch. He quickly climbed the fence and dropped into Cas’ grid. Shielding his eyes from the flurry, he brought the sniper round to scope the area ahead. In front of him, 4 pulsating figures were surrounding something. He dropped the gun and pulled the pistol from his back.

Mercilessly, he ran forward and took 2 of them out before his presence was even noted.

In astonishment, the man holding Cas dropped his body. Dean kicked Cas’ discarded knife toward him and rang out the rest of his clip in the mammoth of a man that was charging at him. Clicking the gun uselessly, he tossed it to the ground and bent to retrieve the blade from his boot.

The man reached him just as he returned into a stance, effortlessly knocking the weapon from his hand. Dean brought his hands up; he had no idea how badly Cas was hurt so this fight needed to be quick. He blocked the first two jabs, landing one of his own. The man clocked him straight in the face and Dean felt the trickle of blood almost freezing instantly falling from his eye socket.

Before he could retaliate, the man cried out in pain, his figure stiffening and then falling to the ground. Cas was standing, tilted to one side and dropped the knife as he fell forward. Catching him, he kissed the side of Cas’ temple.

“I got you angel.”

Cas had passed out so Dean lifted him into his arms, not marital style thank you very much, Cas was shuddering too much and at the same time snuggling into Dean’s warmth. He held him ( _think unsexy thoughts, Crowley in a dress oh God no)_ like a child, cradling him like every bit of him was as precious as Dean knows it is. Staggering, Dean made it through the door, collapsing against the close button, Cas nestled in his lap.

A cough made him open his eyes.

“We need to talk.”

He followed Benny to his office, insisting on getting the required materials from the infirmary and fixing Cas up himself. There was no sign of Nora or Lisa _. Thank someone._ Benny sat behind his desk, watching as Dean carefully placed Cas into the chair and stripped him of the now blood soaked shirt. Efficiently, Dean sterilised the wounds, cleaning any that had broken skin and stitched them up. He then redressed Cas and, in his focused mind set, had forgotten Benny was even there; placing a kiss to Cas’ forehead.

“That’s complicated.”

Dean froze, and then relaxed when he saw the sympathetic look Benny was giving him. “Tell me about it, I’m only a first year. I’m not even gay!”  


“But you are fucking him right?” Benny said, unconvinced.

“That’s just Cas. Really, I’m kinda sure it will only ever be _Cas._ ” Dean murmured unsettled by the admission.

“Yeah, about that. You and lightweight there are going to be paired up-“

“We are!” It took all his self control not to scream like a girl and jump from his seat.

“Hey, kid. It isn’t that easy.” Looking away from Dean, Benny took two glasses and a bottle from his desk. Monotonously pouring the brown liquid, he passed the glass with a sigh. “They want me to take you to purgatory. You make it out, you two can be together.”

Dean downed it in one as Benny was talking. Coughing slightly, he squeaked, “What the fuck is purgatory?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys so I'm regrettably back at school tomorrow. Sigh. 
> 
> I've been really shitty at updating this one, sorry if people are actually reading it! I am going to get an update in next week hopefully, but apologies in advance if I'm a let down. :3 This has like 5 chapters left in it (of plot I have planned atm) so please stick around. 
> 
> I hope to update every Saturday or every other Saturday, so please stick around :3


	12. Wipe Your Feet On Your Way In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, they can be together...
> 
> If they survive Purgatory that is.
> 
> It's not really Purgatory, Dean. It's just a name they have given to the war torn areas in South America. 
> 
> I knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bullshitticus on a bike, I'm so sorry for how long this has taken
> 
> It's not even a complete chapter, sigh.
> 
> Ima add to it tho, dont you worry. Just wanted to give you something after 2 months...
> 
> So here's the start, at a reasonable break of course.

There were hands trailing over his skin. Not teasing, soft and gentle, so tender Cas nearly missed the sensation of the bandage being removed; he realised that the last thing he remembered was the cold stab of the knife in that demons back and bright green eyes penetrating the snow and melting the icy embrace of the air.

Trying to remain as still as possible, he squinted to see the tense, but satisfied, thin lipped smile on the gorgeous man’s face. Also, he noted the darkness clinging to the bottom of his eyes, dragging his age forward 10 years. Cas felt the soft touch of lips on his forehead, glancing to his own chest wondering what the hell Dean was marvelling at (and if that wasn’t a very Dean expression, he mused) when his attention once again became fixated on Dean.

Or rather, Dean’s back as he quietly sang the lyrics to ‘Hey Jude’. Many of Dean’s emotions can be judged through the songs he sings: when he is happy he sings Ramble On, when he is nervous, he resorts to Metallica... Hey Jude, however, had not yet been placed on Cas’ list of Dean’s emotional settings. So he watched as Dean shuffled about the room, shirtless only in front of Cas, wearing his scars like they hadn’t once broken him. Instead, they stand for what he survived. What he went through to be the man he was today. Castiel swallowed. His eyes roamed the base of Dean’s back, upwards; he noted the chair pulled closed to his bedside in his peripheral. _Who’s being creepy watching me sleep now, assbutt?_

Another thing was bugging him though. When he had pulled Dean from Hell, as they now branded it, Dean was being tortured. He was _still_ being tortured. Even though he had broken –

It was in a fleeting sweep across Dean’s shoulders that Cas saw it. A hand print... on Dean’s left deltoid. He stared down at his own hands, clinically by his side. There was a faint pigment of black ink against the pale of his flesh. Instantly, he was on his feet, closing the distance between him and Dean’s hunched over, humming figure. Staring at his hand like it was a new appendage, he matched his right hand and gripped Dean’s left arm, right over the tattoo. Dean whirled around in surprise.

“Cas! Jesus fucking Christ, we need to get you a bell.”

His head was tilted in confusion, still staring at the point where his handprint matched exactly onto Dean’s skin; he was perplexed that Dean had gotten a piece of Cas permanently marked there.

Seeming to note his mystification, pink bloomed and dusted the younger man’s cheekbones. “Benny said,” He lifted his arm to show the number on his right forearm, **850351** , “He wouldn’t mind giving me another tattoo, one I’d wanted to get for a while now.” The boy looked down, biting his bottom lip nervously.

Cas used his free hand to tilt Dean’s chin up, his other hand still transfixed with the point on Dean’s arm. Squeezing, he leant forward so that his lips brushed across Dean’s. “I like it. It symbolises my claim on you.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow, but the grin was there nonetheless. Then there were arms wrapping around Cas’ torso. Holding tight, as though Cas might transport away from him. Cold wet droplets formed on Cas’ shoulder where Dean had rested his forehead, his breathing becoming shallow and body trembling. Their bare chests pressed together, Cas turned his head to lean against Dean’s.

“What happened?”

“I thought I lost you.” He sniffed, “Fucking, that Nora bitch. Turns out she’s a friend of Crowley’s. She was sent in to set you up to...” Dean trailed off, his arms closing tighter around Cas, who held on back, hiding his anger from Dean. “Your chest was pretty fucked up dude. But I guess ‘cos you’re older, you heal faster than me.”

“I am fine, Dean.” Peppering kisses onto the bent head of the man clinging to him, he squeezed once to look at his face. Reluctantly, and with a bit of prying, Dean stepped back.

“You think Benny will do an extra tattoo for me as well?”

Puffy eyes crinkled at the edges and pressed their lips together once more. “I think we can arrange that.”

Dean watched as Cas got his number tattooed, **820304** , and went to get them both something strong to drink while Benny set up to do the larger tattoo on Cas’ back. Slowly, time ticked on; Dean amused himself by playing air guitar or holding Cas’ hand (Not that Cas needed it, by the expression on his face he could have been watching a film or painting a picture).

Once Benny was finished, he left them alone in the room. Cas turned, practically preening to Dean. And it would be a lie to say Dean didn’t enjoy the view. The pale of Cas’ skin was blanked out by beautiful flowing black wings with silver tips. Each feather was intricately embroidered around the other. Before Dean could stop himself, he was reaching out and settling himself carefully against Cas’ back, winding his arms around his toned waist.

Tenderly kissing one of the redder patches, he mumbled into the skin, “My angel.”


End file.
